


Gaining Experience

by ArmsShanks



Series: Gaining Experience etc [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler - Freeform, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hana "D'Va" Song, Homophobic Language, Lena "Tracer" Oxton - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Online Friendship, Online Relationship, Strangers to Friends, There's cussing, a reasonably slow burn, age adjustment from canon, learning how to adult, mmorpg au, only the vaguest of sexual references?, that's basically what's going on here, uh Jamie and Mako meet in a video game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsShanks/pseuds/ArmsShanks
Summary: Jamieson Fawkes doesn't have a whole lot going on. He decides to play a video game.Maybe he'll make a friend. Or something like that.





	1. Chapter 1

He downloads the game on a whim.

It’s during the second time he’s suspended from school this semester for going off the curriculum in shop class. His foster mother hadn’t taken kindly to the news. He’d been grounded to his room - well, as much as you can ground an 18 year old, and ever since dear old mum had discovered the tools he’d pilfered from said shop class, he hadn’t had much to do.

So, to the internet.

The computer wasn’t the newest or the sleekest - his affinity for crafting and tinkering didn’t extend into this particular type of technology - but it worked. He’d won it in an engineering competition thrown by a local computer shop to drum up business, so it was one of the few items in the small home he could claim fervently as his and his alone. He’s no hacker, but typing 12345 into his neighbour’s wifi gives him all the access he needs to the outside world.

Jamieson Fawkes is tall with chronic pain and horrendously bad posture. His fingers are deft, his mind is bright, and by god someday he’s going to get out of this town.

For now though, a lovingly rendered loading screen shines to life with accompanying cinematic music that has him scrambling for the sound settings as it clashes with his own tunes. Fantasy images tinged with steampunk trappings fly by in 720p and his leg jumps impatiently as he tries to skip the cutscene.

Here we go. Warrior, nah. Boring. Priest, paladin, mage, an illusionist- interesting but nah. An engineer- that sounds more his speed as he looks at the complex and clicking gear-laden accoutrement. When he clicks through, of course the preview images of his level 1 character are significantly less impressive, but he fiddles with the customization enough to get something not too-unlike himself. Wild light hair, fake fire-tinted eyes and a smirk. He crafts his avatar all tall and thin but with significantly better posture and probably a straighter nose.

J-u-n-k-r-a-t, he types in. It’s the handle he once spent a night in the police station for tagging onto a posh new coffee shop with lattes worth more than his shirt. Luckily, it isn’t taken.

He clicks enter.

\---

Pixels and polygons are no substitute for testing the limits of what a tired workshop bandsaw could chew through, but it pulls his interest in ways he hadn’t really anticipated. It helps that his mum is supportive of all the time he’s spending in his room and away from the cleaning chemicals. She never did appreciate his experiments, even when he assured her that it was a controlled burn.

The game is something else though. There’s certainly something to be said for fucking with people that would never have the opportunity to throw a punch in return.

Large swaths of the fake world have player versus player mechanics enabled and in a few short months he knows every narrow cave, tight corner, and quest path in the areas he haunts. Traps can be placed for unsuspecting new players as they chase low health mobs, and little automated turrets fit nicely in angles between rock and grass. The blinking red light on top of the creation and the smoke it sputters is obvious to Jamie with his low settings, but kids with their fancy graphic cards would be looking at mounds of clustered foliage instead as they got shot.

The engineer class suits Jamie just fine, and he’s pleased with his instinctual pick. It lacks the reliable and high damage of a mage, or the sustainability of something tankier, but it makes up for it in variety and utility. He chases after a little bit of everything in his skill tree to always have a new surprise to play with, though he favors his bombs and traps heavily. They don’t leave him with singed eyebrows and the smell of gunpowder like the real thing, but at least the sound design is pretty good.

He preys on low and mid-level players alike, skulking around on perches for hours while making half-assed attempts at doing homework. A creaking snap from his speakers alerts him that someone has wandered into his trap and sets him scrambling to the appropriate F-keys that set off the mines lying in wait.

Sometimes a quick fight will follow, and sometimes the unsuspecting player will fall to whatever computer-controlled menace they’re battling. Both typically ended with Junkrat hopping down to collect the fraction of their loot the player drops and watching the streams of angry text roll in.

**[Aleksand3r] (whisper): FUCKK YOU**

**[Aleksand3r] (whisper): Cunt**

**[Aleksand3r] (whisper): FUcking no life pussy get laid nerd**

His strategy of hide and wait doesn't always go as planned though. More than once he manages to trip up high level players doing some sightseeing for events and is summarily beaten (once they blast their way out of his trap, of course.) At least three times he’s unfortunate enough to pounce on big names in the server who were casually playing on alternate low-level characters. This leads to him being wholesale stalked and chased from an area he’s been enjoying free reign on until then. Guilds with their communication and their teamwork are annoying.

He always adapts though, skittering to a new area of the game with a new landscape and finding new exploits to settle into. Sometimes he even plays the game as intended, following repetitive quest lines and testing out new skills to gain experience and gear. The higher level he becomes, the more he could do after all. Flamethrower upgrade? Don’t mind if he does.

Eventually he makes somewhat of a name for himself. People whine on the forums about Junkrat, that damn griefer. A no-skill engineer who couldn’t win a real fight if his life depended on it. A bothersome meme known for only ever responding to private messages with cheeky one-liners. _Oops, dropped something. ;)_ is photoshopped in big white block letters to an image of an obese man sitting in front of a computer, covered in cheeto dust. Jamie makes it his wallpaper.

Next Tuesday at school he’s punched in the mouth for muttering something under his breath to one of the guys on the wrestling team. He can’t remember what it was he said, probably something about dicks and overcompensation. It happened after he came into class one day to find his shop project crushed. It had taken a lot of effort to put together the simple fan with its metal blades and basic electronic hookup without use of the soldering iron, which had been added to the ever-increasing list of things in the shop he wasn’t allowed to use. Now all he has is delicate crumbled metal fan blades, an inner mechanism torn out and missing, and another trip to detention for daring to punch back.

“Can’t prove it was me, Fawkes,” the teen with an asshole where his face should be grins on the way to the principal’s office while dropping a cluster of wires in the garbage in plain view. Jamie’s hands are fists in his pockets as he imagines how satisfying it would be if he walked backwards into a level five steel bear trap.

“I can’t keep doing this, Jamieson!” An hour of phone calls and conversations later and foster mum is stressed. Working two jobs will do that to you. He sulks in the passenger seat of the beaten-down Corolla and hates how he has the potholes in this street memorized as well as his favourite trap sites in game. She’s talking about his grades now, and he just wants to be in his room with his sore jaw and lightly humming computer fan. He tunes back in to her one-sided conversation as she slips up and says something about how he’s lucky to not be on the streets. He doesn’t react, but she screws up her face in guilt anyway, and the conversation is over. He’s allowed to eat dinner in his room without a hassle as an apology.

“Just… please calm down and get your ACT,” her voice rung in his head from some other argument somewhere down the line.

That is what he’s trying to do, to be fair, but it’s taking forever and he hates it. He just wants to get by with high enough grades to be given some crappy government document and be on his way and hirable. At this though rate he will have to take his twelfth year again. He’s missed more classes than he’s attended. Long fingers began to pull at his hair as he thinks of another year of sitting still and shutting up and being looked at under flickering fluorescent lights while people whose families make a couple thousand more a year snicker about trailer trash in ripped jeans.

The tug of a few too many strands of hair from his head centres him. He lets them fall to the floor with disgust and they catch the light of his screensaver. There. Something to do. Something to distract his racing mind.

A couple pending direct messages light up his feed as he logs in. Threats from a major guild about messing with someone’s little brother just trying out the game. He grumbles and makes a note not to go to that map anymore. His mouse pushes aside crumpled wrappers as he idly wanders out of the hub town, gnawing at his lip.

Several pixelated lightning bolts and a gunshot actually manage to startle him as he stares at the death screen, a timer already ticking down to his respawn. A few nasty jokes appear on the world chat bragging about the swift ambush. He grumbles at his own stupidity, taking stock of the gold he’d just lost as he took another method out, teleporting to another area at random instead of walking out through a gate.

Not a map he’s familiar with this time. The scenery is lush and full of plants that take on a blue tint underneath all of the vibrant green. Landmasses are separated by rivers and lakes that curl through the area in whorls. The sand along the shores is a pearlescent pale tan and very unlike the red dusty ground of his reality in small-town Australia. The fantastical willow trees dotting the area complete the look, making for a refreshing atmosphere, even if his low settings make the strings of leaves look two dimensional at times.

He gets down to business, scoping the area for interesting topography to exploit and checking out the general level of the mobs. A quick check of the game’s wiki page tells him of the notable quests in the area and other relevant landmarks. He clears his chat of a taunting whisper asking ‘ _where’s your snappy one-liner now?_ ’. People that act like they're high-and-mighty for caring less about a video game are typically the ones who tend to care the most. It’s cute.

Despite himself, he gives a cocky grin at the thought. His fresh bruise responds by shooting pain through his jaw. Goddamnit.

Feeling a bit lazy, he finds a perch and settles down to watch the flow of people on the map and finish his room-temperature supper. He puts on a quick Youtube video in the background of people microwaving things they really shouldn’t be microwaving while passively watching the colour-coded communication channels of another world tick by.

**[mamono] (world): Hey, anyone want to group up? I think the serpent spawns soon. Not a lot of us here.**

**[Mkuta] (world): Where’s that?**

**[Quanstr] (whisper): really have nothing to say yyou little shit?**

**[Mkuta] (world) Sorry I’m new. Could you maybe team....?**

**[mamono] (world): of course! :)**

**[Xu319mn] (world): selling gold, $5.99USD/10k at *****.com**

**[Rayray] (world): ugh, bots on this map? There isn’t even a fucking city.**

**[mamono] (world): Serpent starts soon! Whisper me for invites~ :)**

**[xX_firestar_Xx] (talk): sum1 help**

**[SYSTEM]: Scheduled maintenance in 3h, 30m.**

**[Xu319mn] (world): selling gold, $5.99USD/10k at *****.com**

**[Rayray] (world): ffs. if anyone sees him w/ me.**

**[Shadowblaydez] (world): New guild looking for members, N1njaClan, must be lvl 60, raids every wednesday. W/ me for invite.**

**[SYSTEM]: Energy is pooling in the Emerald Spiral, The Serpent's seal is broken!**

He feels a slight twinge as he finishes the cold peas and the video ends. He could go do a world boss. Maybe he’ll get something to sell to recoup his earlier loss. He doesn't often participate in that sort of thing so he rarely gets that kind of loot without taking it from a corpse. Also he can probably help provide support to the lower levels with his-

That wasn’t really him, though. He taps his mouse lightly without moving it. “Probably just get pk’d for showing up,” he mutters to himself.

He huddles in his chair and resists the urge to poke and prod at the bruise forming on his chin. More people speak, lines of text across a screen from god knows where. It sounds like they had beaten the snake boss, though it had been difficult. Rayray finally found the bot account and shut it up by way of a knife to the back and was promptly praised by the other few brave souls who left world on. He catches himself grinning again before the pain hit and he scowls, hitting clear and making the chat interface smaller.

Oh, without the overlay there he can see there’s another player in his area.

Jamie cocks his head and sits up a little straighter, fingers moving to his controls. It’s a low level, if the generic gear was anything to go by. A warrior or a paladin it looks like. The guy must have gotten unlucky to roll a set dyed with pink highlights, he snickers at the look. He scrolls through his movesets before settling on the underleveled but highly entertaining flamethrower tool he’d recently acquired. The other character wasn’t even moving, just facing the water; he must be away from his computer. This would be easy.

Low risk, low reward though, his thoughts remark unbidden. It is the kind of thought that usually comes with stagnation and boredom. Like when he actually follows the chemistry teacher’s instructions and doesn’t find his own new, flashier and far more educational ways to learn. It sours his already poor mood. “Ugh, whatever,” he hisses to himself before promptly being attacked from all sides.

“Shit.” He quickly angles his relatively frail character away from the fight. It’s a roaming mob of, for this map, high-level minotaur themed enemies chasing after some NPC’s carriage as part of a quest. He’s already seen it wander around the area several times over the course of his digital-people-watching. He scrambles to switch over to his bomb toolkit and winces to hear the sound effect of his prey getting beaten up too. Once he’s on his best specs, it takes only one emptying of his main cooldowns to clear out the hoard and he brushes aside the thankful praises of the NPC with a click.

The angular corpses of the mobs vanish slowly, leaving behind a pittance of copper. It probably wouldn’t even be enough to pay for the scroll he’d have to use to get back to town and heal-

Oh, he’s at full health.

The light glow fades from the healing spell as Jamie picks out the form of the low level character - a paladin, he now settles on - who had approached him through the mess. It has dark skin, white hair, and maxed height just like his own avatar. Again the only thing that stands out terribly to him is the unusual but subtle pink highlights to tenth level armor.

Silence.

Well, shit. Should he type something here? Surely the etiquette would be this damn newbie thanking him for saving his fake life or something. The guy is just standing there. Is he waiting for his cooldowns to heal himself too or something? He clearly isn’t afk.

His long fingers hover above the keyboard, despite himself, hesitating. A pointy canine chews on his lower lip.

As he debates, the world chat scrolls along without him, maintenance is in two and a half hours and the server he’s spent the last five months in generally hates him.

Tik tak tak tik.

**[Junkrat] (talk): u need some help lvlling or somthin?**

The character on his screen doesn’t move outside of its idle animation and Jamie still feels like he’s somehow being judged. His fingers itch back towards the keyboard to just port out of there before things get weirder-

**[Roadhog] (whisper): sure.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Cuz a couple people have referenced, I don't have any particular game in mind that they're playing and I'm trying to keep it generic. But the personal experience that I'm drawing from is Guild Wars 2, and a collection of shitty free to play mmos I basically grew up in.
> 
> Thanks again to Thyme for beta'ing.

Leveling up a low level character like Roadhog is easy. Jamie happily taps away on his keyboard, explaining the basics of the game and the most optimized way to level on the particular map they’d found themselves in. He references the wiki article still open in another tab and leads the way for the quiet paladin. Team invites are sent and Junkrat drops a turret in the middle of an area listed with frequent monster spawns. It’s not a skill tree he’s invested much into it, as he doesn’t find the mechanics very satisfying, but it’s enough to let him relax and let the xp points roll in.

**[Junkrat] (team): ta daaaaa**

**[Junkrat] (team): see? just stick with me and this shit is easy. get you into the level eighteen stuff, that’ll make it easier for you to solo.**

**[Junkrat] (team): if ya wanna pick up the money knock urself out**

**[Junkrat] (team): buy urself some better dyes lmao**

**[Roadhog] (team): seems lazy.**

Jamie pouted.

**[Junkrat] (team): if i didn’t know better id be offended mate!**

**[Junkrat] (team): im doin ya a favor**

He hit a couple keys and on screen Junkrat relaxed in an emote, juggling a handful of micro bombs. The combined causal effect of leaning back and letting his turret chug away makes him quirk his lips and reach for a drink. A moment passes and finds himself wondering if he’s insulted or irritated the guy, or both.

**[Roadhog] (team): my fucking hero.**

Jamie snorts out a bit of the soda he was sipping. The bruise on his chin doesn’t bother him this time as he grins and takes back to the keyboard.

**[Junkrat] (team): coulda just left ya there to drop all ur shit while u afkd.**

**[Junkrat] (team): let them mobs eat ya up**

Again there is a bit of a pause as the turret clacks away and the sound of dying feathered reptilian creatures.

**[Roadhog] (team): the minotaurs were actually chasing away foresters messing up their land.**

Junkrat blinks. What.

It takes a second. Roadhog sits.

_Oh he’s talking about, like… the lore. Of the game._

Weird.

**[Junkrat] (team): well sorrrry for disrupting the circle a life. Next time I’ll let ya wipe and respawn.**

**[Roadhog] (team): you’re planning on saving me a lot then.**

Jamie twitches, tapping home row.

**[Junkrat] (team): obviously. I have nothing better to do in this game then to tend to the well-bein of newbs**

That wasn’t very clever. He frowns. He should be doing better when actually given the second’s pause that typing allows, unlike real life where he tends to spout off whatever horseshit comes to mind first.

**[Roadhog] (team): so you’re one of those high level players who goes around helping new ones to feel superior.**

Jamie sputters so hard he accidentally knocks his character out of its emote.

**[Junkrat] (team): mate**

**[Junkrat] (team): now im actually offended!**

**[Junkrat] (team): ...people do that?**

**[Roadhog] (team): lol, probably.**

Something in those stupid three letters makes him relax enough that he’s typing his next sentence before he thinks better of it.

**[Junkrat] (team): nah im just bored**

Wow. A fucking stranger on the internet didn’t need to know that. He cringes and adjusts his posture; the worn computer chair he’s sitting in isn’t doing his back any favors. He’s sighing and reaching for his bottle of generic brand acetaminophen when he sees the next reply pop up.

**[Roadhog] (team): me too.**

He gives a quick huff of relief and pulls out a couple of the white powdery pills, stopping to reply before he even takes them.

**[Junkrat] (team): oh good were both oversharing**

**[Junkrat] (team): today i got punched in the jaw**

**[Junkrat] (team): it sucked**

He downs the painkillers with a gulp of his soda. One of his teeth complains at the sugar.

**[Roadhog] (team): sorry.**

**[Junkrat] (team): lol, yeah**

His fingers move from their posed position back to WASD and his mouse. Junkrat hops up and with a couple of keystrokes his bombs are back out and he tosses a few onto the incessantly spawning creatures. It’s significantly faster, and for a moment after the turret falls silent with nothing to hit. Roadhog’s character models glows golden briefly, indicating it has levelled up.

**[Junkrat] (team): grats**

**[Junkrat] (team): anyway im gonna go be a hero smoewhere else bye**

He spends about ten seconds deciding if he’s actually going to port out or just close the window before he settles on the latter. In the split second between clicking the X and the little green and blue clearing disappearing, he sees a friend request pop up.

He blinks as the incredibly stretched and pixelated image of an obese man sitting in front of the computer stares back at him from his desktop. _Oops, dropped something ;)_

“Probably just wanted more power leveling,” he murmured, trying to talk over the fact he felt like he was shaking. He should try and figure out what to bring to school tomorrow for his shop project. It was due tomorrow. He should study. He should clean up his desk and take his dishes downstairs.

He crawls in bed and wishes he hadn’t run out of tiger balm. At least the painkillers should kick in soon. For a time he lays in bed. Eventually, he sleeps.

 

\---

 

**[Roadhog] (whisper): hey.**

Jamieson is decidedly too lazy to get dressed after his shower and is trying to find out on google the best way to trick netflix into giving him indefinite free thirty day trials so he doesn’t see when the message popped up. He barely catches it between minimising windows and the ever-present scroll of the game’s white noise.

“Whu-” he muttered absently. That rando he helped out a couple weeks ago? He vaguely remembers choking out something embarrassing before logging off. “Uhh…” Jamie scratches his damp scalp and looks around his dark room as if the paladin was watching him fuck around. Eventually he settles down.

**[Junkrat] (whisper): sup**

He puts his avatar in motion, jumping past the stationary players selling wares. It’s about the only type of area he could afk without being jumped on thanks to the anti-pvp settings. Now that he is home and reasonably clean, what would he do today?

He’s feeling a little uninspired, to be perfectly honest. He could only gain so much character progression when he spent the vast majority of his time inconveniencing kids in low level areas and people were not as creative with insults as he wished they were. You can only get called a virgin cunt so many times before it stops being funn-

**[Roadhog] (whisper): need some help with my promotions.**

**[Roadhog] (whisper): if you’re bored.**

Was that a reference to their last conversation? Jamie snorts. Either the guy was being a shit or he really was just trying to leech off of him.

He finds himself sending the invite anyway and heading to Roadhog’s location. The area built for the other player’s class is overwrought with dramatic vertical architecture and generic religious symbolism. A quick look at Roadhog’s status and it looks like he’s been doing some levelling. After a themed quest here he’ll be promoted and get some new skills. His armor is looking a touch fancier, though there was still the odd bit of pink between the grey steel and dark brown leathers.

**[Junkrat] (team): fear not**

**[Junkrat] (team): ur saviour returns**

**[Roadhog] (team): are you specced for dps at medium to long range, i heard that was best to duo with here.**

**[Junkrat] (team): “Hi nice to see you! thanks Junkrat for helping my poor n00bie ass with this difficult quest!”**

**[Junkrat] (team): gosh its no problem m8**

**[Ribbityhop] (world) yo if anyone needs help w/ ryoji quest im doin’ it now!**

**[Junkrat] (team): you act like this is gonna be tough with someone twice your level here lmao**

**[Roadhog] (team): your turret the other day didn’t really inspire confidence.**

**[Junkrat] (team): oi! That stuffs not my speciality, i was just tryin ta… you know**

**[Roadhog] (team): so what’s your specialty.**

**[Junkrat] (team): ranged dps.**

**[Roadhog] (team): wow it’s like we could have skipped this whole conversation if you’d just said “yes.”**

**[Junkrat] (team): i happen to think i’m quite the conversationalist!**

Roadhog queues up for the quest and Jamie clicks along to enter, snickering at himself. As he'd asserted, the quest is easy, given his levels on top of Roadhog's, who appears to be a competent player when he's not staring out over the digital ocean waiting for his Bonnie to come back.

At one point foster mum absently opens his door to ask if he has any requests from the grocery store before yelping about his casual lack of clothing. He asks for more coffee, she says no and throws a pair of sweatpants at his head. By the time he comes back to the screen, he’s at half health with a paladin fighting in close quarters to keep the demon-themed mobs at bay. He tosses out a volley of bombs on instinct, clearing the immediate area.

**[Junkrat] (team): now whos the hero big guy**

**[Junkrat] (team): <3**

**[Roadhog] (team): thanks for the heads up there, idiot.**

**[Junkrat] (team): wasnt my fault**

**[Junkrat] (team): irl attack by sisterhood of the travelling pants**

**[Roadhog] (team): what.**

Jamie just giggles and continues playing through the dungeon alongside the paladin. They make an efficient team, though he can’t help but notice that Roadhog could have probably cleared this on his own, if significantly slower. Once they arrive at the most ostentatious room in the place, he tosses down a trap to ensnare the boss and turns to deal with its surrounding lackeys while Roadhog soaks up damage from the big fiery demon.

The affair is over with quickly and Junkrat stands awkwardly, Jamie sorting through his inventory as Roadhog is stationary, clearly clicking through quest menus slowly enough that he might even be reading them. The silence is awkward and Jamie isn’t sure if he should just fuck off now.

**[Junkrat] (team): what you pickin?**

**[Junkrat] (team): specialization i mean**

**[Roadhog] (team): avenger.**

**[Junkrat] (team): oo**

**[Junkrat] (team): thats what, more dmg focused right?**

**[Junkrat] (team): with a side of the usual tank n heal**

**[Roadhog] (team): yeah.**

**[Junkrat] (team): bonzer**

**[Roadhog] (team): could you be more australian.**

**[Junkrat] (team): ur a cunt**

**[Roadhog] (team): thanks.**

The weirdness is again dispelled and he’s tittering quietly at the exchange. He’s about to type in a quick what do you want to do now? Before he freezes. Why would there be a next? Dumb. He chews on the nails of his left hand while looking around with his mouse on the right.

**[Roadhog] (team): i need to log off now, thanks for the help.**

Oh thank god. Maybe? Maybe thank god? He’s typing before he really thinks it through.

**[Junkrat] (team): dont think ya rly needed me mate**

In lieu of a response, a friend request pops up on his screen again. Jamie does something between a wince and shrug as he clicks yes.

Roadhog disappears.

 

\---

 

Jamie has been attending school more regularly lately. He’s also been trying to follow his teachers’ constraints and stick with the program. He wants to graduate. He wants to get out of this. He doesn’t want to do the year again. He sticks to putting together miniature shelving units in shop and doesn’t pilfer chemicals from random places to introduce into chemistry class. It’s driving him absolutely up the fucking wall.

He cleans his room in frustration. He can’t believe he’s doing it. He organizes his small collection of spray paint cans by brand and then by colour. He wastes an entire notebook meant for math class by scribbling designs both practical and abstract for mechanical contraptions and art pieces full of jagged edges and grinning teeth. He steals a backup notebook from another student one day for class and has the decency to feel guilty but he’s been short on change ever since he stopped practicing pickpocketing tips he found online and he can’t afford his own.

Griefing people as an outlet starts to feel more pathetic than fun. The errant and slur-ridden comments on his lack of life are starting to hit home and he catches himself eyeing fire mage builds and thinking about making an alternate character. He minimizes the window grumbling about how stupid he’s being when he doesn’t like grinding in the first place.

_**[Roadhog] is now online.** _

He sends the team invite before he can think of an excuse for sending the team invite. They’ve grouped up a handful of times now, maybe about once a week. Roadhog will say he wants to do such and such a quest or a dungeon and Junkrat will stop afking in a hole or camping popular leveling sites for prey and join him. Their communication is minimal, mostly the odd snark and talk of strategy. It gives him something to do, which he has sorely been needing in the last two months since he’d made his first fake friend. Whenever he sees Roadhog’s name pop up he tends to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he’ll have at least one thing to occupy his mind with that evening.

This is the first time Jamie has sent the invitation first though and he immediately feels like an idiot.

**[Roadhog] (team): hey.**

**[Junkrat] (team): whys your name roadhog?**

**[Roadhog] (team): why’s your name junkrat**

Jamie rests his greasy forehead on the keyboard and groans.

**[Roadhog] (team): i like pigs and motorcycles.**

He sees the response after spending no less than a minute without looking at the screen and he lets out a breath of not-quite-laughter that might be relief.

**[Junkrat] (team): aces. i just sorta thought htis sounded right. Forget when i came up with it**

**[RocketQueen] (world): just a heads up that 01110011 is a scammer. Don’t accept any trades from them.**

**[Junkrat] (team): you have a motorcycle?**

**[Roadhog] (team): saving for one. next month i hope.**

**[Junkrat] (team): oh wow**

**[Junkrat] (team): what country r u in that u ended up here?**

**[Roadhog] (team): new zealand.**

**[Junkrat] (team): a kiwi!**

He runs out of things to type for a moment. Spam lines from bots and players trying to sell things fill his screen slowly.

**[Roadhog] (team): why engineer.**

He straightens.

**[Junkrat] (team): oh, i like building shit irl!**

**[01110011] (world): <3**

**[Roadhog] (team): what kind of shit.**

**[Junkrat] (team): ah idunno pretty much anythin, im real into mechanics and machinery tho, like combining moving systems with electronics n shit.**

**[Junkrat] (team): also chemistry. That stuff is great. Its all logical and structured but the shit it does is amazing and messy and excitin’**

**[Junkrat] (team): ok that wasnt rly part of the question but**

**[RocketQueen] (world): it’s sad that people use the anonymity of the internet to be terrible.**

**[Junkrat] (team): w/e**

**[Junkrat] (team): and you, pali?**

**[Roadhog] (team): mostly random. had no strong feelings but it seemed the most self-sustainable**

**[01110011] (world): encantador, RQ.**

**[Junkrat] (team): ah**

The conversation goes on like this for awhile. They exchange incredibly shallow questions with Jamie typing more than he probably should. He remains standing in the vicinity of the random npc he had been shopping from when Roadhog logged on for the entirety of the exchange.

 

\---

 

**[Junkrat] (whisper): woah**

**[Junkrat] (whisper): new look..?**

Roadhog had expressed interest in doing a newer, more challenging dungeon, and they had gone so far as to set a time to meet. Jamie gets there a little early and fiddles around, clearing his inventory and getting ready to play the game properly for an evening. He tries not to think about whether or not Roadhog has actual friends to call upon to help him out, or the fact that he probably has a shitty build for serious dungeons.

In the middle of his debating between two nearly identical statistic layouts, Roadhog appears and he is different. The paladin is, well, rounder. The character has acquired a significant gut while still clearly keeping unrealistically defined muscles underneath the plate armor it wears. It’s also sporting a new hairstyle, silver coloured and pulled tightly into a playfully fluffy but short ponytail sticking upwards.

They aren’t standard attributes in the game; you could spend real money on kits to change your character’s appearance and they tended to offer more variety.

It takes a second for Junkrat to see the team invite before he clicks.

**[Roadhog] (whisper): yeah.**

There’s a pause, his avatar doesn’t move.

**[Roadhog] (team): felt like looking more like me.**

There’s an unspoken challenge in the words, but it was only text so maybe Jamie is imagining it. For the first time in the four-or-so months he’s known him, he imagines Roadhog- the real Roadhog - and though the picture is generic and blurry, he can see the short, clipped sentences and stone-faced humour coming from him in a way that just makes sense.

**[Junkrat] (team): thats awesome mate**

**[Junkrat] (team): i think i got my guy p bang on, though im way more handsome irl**

**[Roadhog] (team): lol.**

The tension is gone. Jamie feels warm.

The zen is quickly broken as Roadhog sends out an additional invite. They were nearly even in level now, with Roadhog clearly putting in more effort, so they were doing more challenging content. Teams were typically made of five, and it looks like that's what they were going with.

Jamie knows that, of course, Roadhog probably plays with people that weren’t him, but he still feels a little... uncomfortable as they are joined by the new players.

**[Mercy] (team): Good evening Roadhog! Shall I invite the others?**

**[Roadhog] (team): sure.**

He hovered over the blonde haired blue eyed icon now in the unfamiliar team indicator in his HUD. Max level healer with some stats to show she had been up there for awhile. Two more icons popped up in quick succession.

**[Mercy] (team): Lucio is still out of town so thank you for joining us, Junkrat!**

**[Bee’Va] (team): LMAO what are we doing in a team w junkrat???**

**[Bee’Va] (team): omfg???**

Oh _fuck_ , he knows that name. Or at least a version of it. Everyone in the server knows the name D’Va and the obvious variations of it on her alternate characters. She’s an actual professional gamer. He cringes slowly into his seat as the chat continued without him.

**[Mercy] (team): Oh, sorry should I have heard of him?**

**[Tracer] (team): omg you totally killed me when i was level 20-something!**

**[Bee’Va] (team): LMAO THO**

**[Bee’Va] (team): he’s this engie griefer**

**[Mercy] (team): Oh dear uhm..**

**[Mercy] (team): wait, sorry what’s a griefer?**

**[Bee’Va] (team): ….god you’re adorable ange.**

**[RRt] (world): b > 56 c orbs**

**[Tracer] (team): he kills low level players for fun!**

**[Roadhog] (team): he’s fine.**

Jamie’s hand is switching between scribbling absolutely nothing furiously on a piece of paper nearby and worrying at the keyboard. Should he say something? Should he log out before Roadhog reacts to how much of a piece of shit he tended to be? His pen breaks through the piece of paper and the tearing sound jolts him.

**[Roadhog] (team): can we just do the dungeon.**

**[Tracer] (team): >:( he better not try anything though!**

**[Roadhog] (whisper): sorry.**

Jamie looks at the singular whispered line in red before taking a deep breath.

**[Junkrat] (team): G’day! Lovely day to meet such a group of fine upstandin players as yourselves**

**[Junkrat] (team): honour to play alongside our lord n savior abcd’va and sorry for offin ya trace**

**[Junkrat] (team): im sure u learned a valuable lesson about watching where u step though**

**[Junkrat] (team): im like the hidden tutorial players never knew they needed**

**[Bee’Va] (team): omg**

**[Junkrat] (team): and mercy im sure youre a wonderful sheila**

**[Junkrat] (team): anyway ive been lookin forward to helpin my dear ole pal roadie here all day and u dont want to let down this cuddly ole cunt do ya?**

**[RRt] (world): b > 52 c orbs**

**[Junkrat] (team): i mean, look at him**

**[Junkrat] (team): and his pink armor**

**[Tracer] (team): … it is really cute.**

Jamie can practically feel Roadhog glaring at him. In truth, the character now sports largely shiny black armor with thin pastel pink inlays. It’s quite the look. It looks even more fitting somehow on the new character model, even if it is taking Jamie a little time to recontextualize this new figure as “Roadhog.”

**[Bee’Va] (team): okay youre actually a BIT funny so you get a pass**

**[Bee’Va] (team): lets go, losers**

**[Tracer] (team): way ahead of ya!**

Junkrat follows Roadhog as they port and then walk over to the dungeon entrance. There’s silence between them as they focus on getting to the destination while the others chat away. D’Va is flippant and appears to find the whole thing hilarious rather than upsetting. Tracer shoots him a whisper about the incident and he begrudgingly pauses to give a half apology before she starts being unrelentingly chipper again. Mercy seems confused but polite.

The healer shines like a damn beacon when they get to the entrance. Her angelic outfit glows like she’s got something to prove. Tracer is apparently a rogue with some mage in her, frail but super fast and deadly. Lightning crackles from the long daggers she wields and her silhouette is trim. Bee’Va is a necromancer, a yellow and black striped shock of drama on the grey landscape with a hulking servant summoned at her back and an adorably out of place bee pet equipped.

Junkrat kind of looks like shit.

**[Mercy] (team): Oh, Mako! Your character looks great!**

**[Roadhog] (team): thanks. name though.**

**[Mercy] (team): damnit, sorry!**

**[mikMuffin] (talk) team?**

**[Mercy] (team): Gosh uhm, anyway! Shall we?**

Jamie can practically hear D’Va sizing him up as he is pulls out of his thoughts. Mako? Was that Roadhog’s name? Did they-

**[Bee’Va] (team): alright lets see what youre made of, dumprat**

They’re pulled into the dungeon with a jarring jump cut to a quick cutscene about some plague of grey blah consuming the land blah blah nothing grows all colour is gone destroy the source blaaaah. The dreary and airy soundscape of wind blowing through dusty halls bores him instantly and he queues up a playlist. D’Va fires off another set of taunts targeting his skills or lack thereof as his third favourite remix of Megalovania starts streaming from his speakers.

“Let’s go,” he mutters to himself as he takes to the keys.

The dungeon is far more difficult than any of the game’s content he’s played so far. There are areas with strategies that had to be followed to the letter to solve puzzles and survive. Even with a combination of his pre-reading of the necessary tactics and the helpful guidance by Mercy (and less kindly put tips from D’Va), it’s still a tough run. Roadhog plays admirably, his build keeping him alive indefinitely with the addition of the beacon of a healer at his back. Mercy is patient when it comes to reviving both Junkrat and occasionally Tracer when they draw the attention of mobs not already focused on Roadhog. Tracer zips around, artfully dodging danger to get key objectives and kills, while D’Va’s summoned hulking bone-and-rot abstraction is thrown into battle beside Roadhog to help with crowd control.

Junkrat can work with this.

He litters bombs across the battlefield, thinning the herd around Roadhog and D’Va. His traps protect their flanks. He ends up being the primary damage dealer, so it takes longer than it really should. His character isn't nearly as optimised as the others and the points he’s squirreled away into side-items for fun are hampering his efficiency now. His gear is also comparatively crap next to the themed and curated sets the others are using. He’s never had to actually worry about the upper limits of his character and he feels surprisingly self-conscious.

**[Bee’Va] (team): what even is your dmg?**

**[Junkrat] (team): shoulda brought ur amaaazing mage im sure u totally have if u wanted high area dps**

**[Junkrat] (team): we cant all bee professionals**

**[Bee’Va] (team): lmao ughhh youre so laaaaame**

**[Mercy] (team): Hana pls stop typing your critique and focus on r side~**

**[Bee’Va] (team): if you took fire wave level 3 and ha**

**[Bee’Va] (team): dammit ange**

**[Mercy] (team): :)**

Somehow he can feel Roadhog rolling his eyes at the group as he worked in silence. Over the course of the dungeon, D’Va tweaked her equipped skills and her necromancer swarmed with locusts adding additional area damage. Their shortcomings are summarily taken care of by Mercy whos communication is now direct and succinct but friendly business. The final boss itself is by far the easiest stage, with Tracer’s single target blows being incredibly effective now that they don’t have to control an entire room for her to do her job.

**[Tracer] (team): yesssss!!!!!!!!**

**[Mercy] (team): Excellent work!**

**[Mercy] (team): Did you get the item you needed, Roadhog?**

**[Roadhog] (team): _[Quest: Grey Heart] [Paleguard’s Breastplate] [Colourless Shard]_**

**[Bee’Va] (team): dude that’s some solid armor**

**[Tracer] (team): _[Colourless Shard]_ i think i can finish my amulet now!**

**[Bee’Va] (team): your 80 gear will be finished in no time**

**[Mercy] (team): Congratulations both. :D**

**[Mercy] (team): Anything exciting, Junkrat?**

He looks at his drops and there’s nothing he can use, but he did get a couple rare items that would sell for a fair amount. Good enough.

**[Junkrat] (team): yes**

**[Junkrat] (team): i got the greatest drop of all:**

**[Junkrat] (team): friendship**

**[Bee’Va] (team): pffft youre a goober**

**[Tracer] (team): hehe**

Tracer shoots him a friend request which makes him blink. So does Mercy. He sheepishly accepts while D’Va fucks off to get in some PVP before bed. Mercy claims she has to head in for her midnight shift at the ER. Yikes. Tracer makes an excuse about her girlfriend before logging off.

It’s just him and Roadhog again in the dull grey expanse.

**[Roadhog] (team): going to go turn this quest in.**

**[Junkrat] (team): right**

He casually follows Roadhog, feeling like a gangly tag-along. They end up on another much more colourful map as Roadhog stands in front of a few NPCs, again taking long enough to be reading the text. Jamie smiles fondly without really realizing why.

**[Roadhog] (team): any other plans tonight.**

**[Junkrat] (team): nah mate**

He’s unscrewing the lid to his acetaminophen again thanks to the soreness in his fingers. He’s not used to playing with that much action and concentration for so long and he takes a moment to get up, stretch, and take a piss as well. Foster mum yells up the stairs that he turn his music off because it’s nearly midnight goddamnit. He does so, feeling a little exhausted himself.

When he gets back, Roadhog is standing just past the edge of the town they were in. Junkrat hops along to follow.

Roadhog, in his ridiculous but stylish black and pink armor and his big gut is sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking an expanse of water. It jolts his foggy memory back to when they first met. He drums his bitten-down nails on his desk for a moment before having his character sit down as well.

Junkrat looks like a mess of hastily thrown together gear with no cohesive style, which is absolutely ridiculous next to Roadhog’s carefully matched attire. He kind of likes the chaos, but maybe he’ll spend some time poking around in the dye menus sometime...

**[Junkrat] (team): dang cant remember last time i sat this bad boy down to do more than camp behind things**

**[Junkrat] (team): you would not believe the amount of shit people wont notice**

**[Roadhog] (team): this map’s nice.**

Jamie paused and tilted his head slightly, looking up from the chat to the jpeg artifact ridden skybox.

**[Junkrat] (team): hard to tell i got my settings on minimum lol**

**[Junkrat] (team): comptuer chugs like mad when i have it higher**

**[Junkrat] (team): also it gives me certain.. advantages**

**[Roadhog] (team): mm.**

Jamie takes a sip of water and hopes the painkillers kick in swiftly. On a whim through the lull in conversation, he pokes away at his settings and turns up the graphics significantly; it shouldn’t be too bad if he’s just sitting stationary.

His frame rate immediately drops but, wow.

**[Junkrat] (team): geeze its like a whole nother game lmao**

**[Roadhog] (team): heh.**

He smiles and takes in the digital landscape, now clearly lovingly rendered with vivid streaks of colour across the sky where the sun was perpetually attempting to set. Jamie curled up in his chair and tried to imagine what it’d feel like to sit by the ocean with tall grass underfoot and the wind ruffling his hair and not just making his speakers crackle. He idly pokes his toes and hears foster mum drop something downstairs and it breaks what little immersion he could muster.

**[Junkrat] (team): so u know that mercy sheila?**

He types it before really thinking. He doesn’t really want to know the answer. Except for the part where he really does.

**[Roadhog] (team): yeah.**

**[Roadhog] (team): met during uni.**

**[bGreene] (world): any1 no wher i can get orbs?**

**[Roadhog] (team): only one who wasn’t afraid to talk to me. lol.**

Hunh. That made him take pause.

**[Junkrat] (team): she seems nice**

**[Roadhog] (team): too much for her own good sometimes.**

Wish i could go to uni and meet a nice shela- backspace. Bloke- backspace. Person? He taps his fingers on the keyboard. What the fuck was he doing. He zones out for awhile and starts thinking about his sexuality without wondering why it was even relevant. He backspaces the sentence and types something else equally stupid out.

**[Junkrat] (team): im jealous**

**[Roadhog] (team): why?**

**[bGreene] (world): pls? orbs?**

**[Junkrat] (team): im never gonna get to go to uni.**

**[Junkrat] (team): never gonna meet ppl who dont know how much of a shit i am**

**[Roadhog] (team): why not.**

**[Junkrat] (team): dont got money also im a fking idiot**

**[Roadhog] (team): last week you told me you were building a miniature hydraulics system out of boredom.**

**[Roadhog] (team): yesterday you were telling me about the mathematical equations required to measure the intensity of an explosion.**

**[JMcCree] (world) Can i introduce you fine gentleman to my friend, google?**

**[Roadhog] (team): you dont sound like an idiot.**

Jamie’s ears feel warm all of a sudden and he folds in just a bit further on himself. He should change the subject.

**[Junkrat] (team): u goin to uni then?**

**[Roadhog] (team): was. got through a chunk of schooling i needed. taking a break and working now. wanted my own place.**

Dang, a long string of text from the big guy.

**[Junkrat] (team): what for?**

**[Junkrat] (team): the uni i mean**

**[Roadhog] (team): wanted to be a vet.**

**[Junkrat] (team): thats fuckin ADORABLE m8**

**[Roadhog] (team): shut up.**

**[Junkrat] (team): did u change ur mind or..?**

**[Roadhog] (team): i’ll probably try again someday. wanted my own place though. needed a job.**

**[Roadhog] (team): needed a break from people.**

**[fh89vl2] (world): asdfgvmkj**

**[Junkrat] (team): needed a distraction**

**[Junkrat] (team): so the game, right?**

**[Rayray] (world): stfu**

**[Roadhog] (team): something like that.**

He clicks through a menu and turns off world chat. Ugh. There’s another brief pause as he listens to the ambient noise of the wind and the water and wishes he could smell salt.

**[Junkrat] (team): youre tlaking a lot tonight**

**[Junkrat] (team): its nice**

**[Roadhog] (team): …**

**[Junkrat] (team): HAH**

**[Roadhog] (team): sorry for earlier by the way.**

**[Junkrat] (team): ?**

**[Roadhog] (team): the group.**

**[Roadhog] (team): i know mercy she just sort of attracts other people. that tracer kid’s alright. dva can be a bit much.**

**[Roadhog] (team): didnt think they would try and pick a fight.**

**[Junkrat] (team): ahhh no m8 it was fine.**

**[Junkrat] (team): gotta be willin to get as good as i give right?**

**[Roadhog] (team): i guess.**

They’ve had one or two nights in their four or so months of knowing each other casually where they would do nothing but chat. It was rare. It was always surface level things. Nothing important. Passing references to real life, likes and dislikes, the usual small talk.

**[Roadhog] (team): why do you think you wont go to university.**

Tonight feels kind of nice, and kind of different, and kind of scary.

He distracts himself from the question by checking tidying a few items off his desk and trying to think about going to bed soon for school tomorrow. He ends up typing instead.

**[Junkrat] (team): got no money. my grades are shit. Dont even know what id go for.**

**[Junkrat] (team): im just tryin to get past high school and then get out of this house and get a job**

**[Junkrat] (team): im sick of this place lol everyone hates me**

**[Roadhog] (team): there are options.**

**[Roadhog] (team): i doubt everyone hates you.**

**[Roadhog] (team): also fuck them.**

He makes a small indistinct sound in his throat and feels even warmer and smaller despite his room being quite chilly at this time of night.

**[Junkrat] (team): i mean they have a reason to?**

**[Junkrat] (team): i did a lot of stupid shit before i realized how much it would impact everything else**

**[Junkrat] (team): like before i realized that i need to responsible to get a job and money**

**[Junkrat] (team): so i could move out and do anything**

**[Junkrat] (team): i trashed places and shoplifted and got drunk and ran away from home**

**[Junkrat] (team): and no one wanted to keep me lol**

**[Junkrat] (team): i was too much toruble**

**[Junkrat] (team): current foster is single and barely tolerates me**

**[Junkrat] (team): i just started trying to do a bit better**

**[Junkrat] (team): like itd be cool to maybe do some engineering thing in uni but like**

**[Junkrat] (team): god i just want to be on my own and not have**

**[Junkrat] (team): to worry about acting right**

**[Junkrat] (team): get passed around somewhere else**

**[Junkrat] (team): at least im old enough now**

**[Junkrat] (team): i dont wanna do 13th year again**

**[Junkrat] (team): 12th***

**[Junkrat] (team): i dont know**

**[Junkrat] (team): i dont have anything i dont know what im goung to do**

**[Roadhog] (team): what’s your name.**

His eyes are stinging a bit and goddamn his fingertips are tingling. He needs stronger painkillers.

**[Junkrat] (team): Jamison**

**[Junkrat] (team): Jamie w/e**

**[Roadhog] (team): Jamie**

**[Roadhog] (team): take a breath.**

**[Roadhog] (team): you will be fine.**

**[Junkrat] (team): you dont gotta talk to me like im a kid**

**[Roadhog] (team): i’m not.**

**[Roadhog] (team): adults get fucked up too. they make bad choices. they screw up and they get sad and overwhelmed.**

**[Junkrat] (team): why are u even tlaking to me im an idiot pker and youre like some**

**[Junkrat] (team): guy gonna get a motorcycle and be a vet and help adorable fkin piggies with ur hot doctor girlfriend and**

**[Junkrat] (team): iim sorry im being an asshole**

**[Junkrat] (team): thanks**

**[Junkrat] (team): i mean**

What did he mean?

**[Roadhog] (team): wait what.**

**[Roadhog] (team): i’m not dating angela. also im gay.**

**[Junkrat] (team): oh**

Oh.

**[Roadhog] (team): also defining yourself by what you do to blow off steam in a game is stupid.**

**[Roadhog] (team): you’re not a kid but you’re still young.**

**[Roadhog] (team): it’s cliche but you’re intelligent and i think you’ll go places.**

**[Roadhog] (team): things aren’t going perfectly for me either.**

**[Roadhog] (team): im a seven foot tall queer guy with a huge gut who likes pink. my real life isn’t exactly roses.**

_Holy shit seven feet tall?_

**[Roadhog] (team): i didn’t have the capacity to stick with university. i had no money and needed out of the house.**

**[Roadhog] (team): my mum and sister died a couple years back and my father never got over it.**

**[Roadhog] (team): he started drinking really heavily. never got that mean but i couldn’t stand to be around him and that house full of memories**

**[Roadhog] (team): i don’t know how he’s holding up without me there to cook and clean though.**

**[Roadhog] (team): i feel so guilty every day.**

**[Junkrat] (team): shit…**

**[Junkrat] (team): you did the right thing though… i mean its not your job to take care of him**

**[Roadhog] (team): i know.**

**[Roadhog] (team): im just saying.**

**[Roadhog] (team): things are tough.**

**[Roadhog] (team): i started playing this because it gave me something to think about at home besides what i have and haven’t done.**

**[Junkrat] (team): right...**

He stares at the image framed by his monitor of an unrealistically gorgeous sunset and two textured and sharp figures sitting on a cliff where a stranger named Mako had just shared his life with a stranger named Jamie. The shared story sobers him, and at some point his hands have stopped shaking, even if his fingertips still feel like crap. They both eventually agree it’s late and they need to sleep. Jamie thanks him for listening to his bullshit, both tonight and for the last four months, and in response:

**[Roadhog] (team): i’ve never really told anyone that.**

**[Roadhog] (team): so thanks too.**

**[Roadhog] (team): sleep well, rat.**

Jamie has never felt more loved.

**[Junkrat] (team): you too, hogs.**

_**[Roadhog] is now offline.** _

Close game?

**[ Yes]**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Thyme for beta-ing, and to y'all for your lovely comments (holy shit????) <3

Sometimes he feels a little cheated that he learned Roadhog’s real name by an accident.

It had just been a slip of the tongue a couple months ago and Jamie figures he’d probably just forget it, as he forgets almost everything he doesn’t write down in big bold letters. It would probably be polite, given Roadhog’s reaction. He doesn’t forget though.

It doesn’t really matter anyway, Roadhog to him is still “Roadhog.” It’s Roadhog he chats with into the late hours of the night and Roadhog he synergizes playstyles with and Roadhog he trades snarky remarks with.

Sometimes though, when he’s sitting in class between memorizing chemical equations, he’ll wonder what _Mako_ ’s up to.

Mako is a twenty-two year old construction worker. He’s strong so it’s easy for him and it’s good money. Mako has a motorcycle that Jamie will never remember the make of but he knows it’s high quality and the pride and joy of its owner. Mako is apparently seven feet tall and likes reading books and high-quality tea. Mako is Roadhog. Roadhog talks to Junkrat. Junkrat is Jamie.

Wow.

As he gets home and throws his patch-covered backpack on the floor, he wonders if it’s pronounced _may-ko_ or _mah-ko_ but stops himself just short of googling the second he sits down at his computer. That would probably be weird.

A chime comes from his speakers that lets him know he’s received an email while he was out. He clicks it after tearing off his shirt; it’s much warmer inside.

 

 

 

> From: **Roadhog** <roadhog.mr@gmail.com>  
>  you owe me, rat.
> 
> Attachment:  
>  pi report.docx

  
Jamie titters loudly and gets ready to sit down and start his day proper; he has a lot of work ahead of him.

 

\---

 

_This is the beginning of your direct message history with **@Roadhog**_

**Junkrat:**  
oooo, fancy

 **Roadhog:**  
this should be easier.  
what was the list of books again?

 **Junkrat:**  
right down to business gosh ya ever just take time to smell the roses i thought that was like  
your Thing

 **Roadhog:**  
or i could not help you with your essay and we can fuck around all night like assholes.

 **Junkrat:**  
sounds good to me m8!

 **Roadhog** :  
…

 **Junkrat** :  
Ugh. so touchy.  
The Great Gatsby  
Romeo and Juliet  
The Catcher in the Rye  
Lord of the Flies  
Animal Farm  
The Life of Pi  
Cat’s Eye

 **Roadhog** :  
okay good. we’ll do life of pi.

 **Junkrat** :  
rly?? what about Animal Farm tho! I heard that one has piggies ( ^ (oo) ^ )

 **Roadhog** :  
the pigs aren’t very nice in that one.  
also, cute.

 **Junkrat** :  
;D  
o fuck i just googled Lord of Flies cuz the title sounded metal and it has a piggy right on the damn cover!  
u sure u dont wanna do that one?  
im just tryin to cater to ya, mate

 **Junkrat** :  
...hello?

 **Roadhog** :  
sorry. had to get my inhaler.

 **Junkrat** :  
!!?

 **Roadhog** :  
laughing.

 **Junkrat** :  
;o … guessin that one’s not cute either lmao

 **Roadhog** :  
not exactly.  
i did a report on life of pi when i was in school. we can tweak it and submit it as yours.

 **Junkrat** :  
OOooohhhhh.  
but gosh darn, that’s cheating roadie!

 **Roadhog** :  
yes.

 **Junkrat** :  
<3

 

\---

 

They’ve made a bit of a plan.

Jamie’s goal was to get out of 12th grade this year. Shortly after their first real heart to heart three months ago, Roadhog had offered to help him. It was probably just to get him to shut up about how much he hated Shakespeare while leveling, but neither of them bothered putting much stock into the real motivation for their cooperation bleeding into real world concerns.

**[Junkrat] (team): uh, really?**

**[Roadhog] (team): english isn’t your strong suit. it happens.**

**[Roadhog] (team): the education system isn’t tailor made for students who don’t learn different subjects the same way.**

**[Roadhog] (team): you’re obviously not a stereotypical learner.**

**[Junkrat] (team): oh… okay i mean, if you really want?**

A moment passed.

**[Roadhog] (team): help me lvl up my alt.**

**[Junkrat] (team): you got it m8**

As if he wouldn’t have done that anyway.

Now here he is , scrolling through a lovingly detailed essay about the myriad of themes woven together in Life of Pi, a book that remains unopened underneath a pile of food wrappers in his bag. He clicks away from word processing program to Discord, a new edition to his aging desktop that Roadhog has convinced him to get for operation Fuck English Class.

His icon is a sketch of a cute stylized piggy face in front of a flaming motor. It’s adorable.

 **Junkrat:**  
Ey got your email! Thanks m8

 **Roadhog** :  
make sure you look over it and change up some of the language so it sounds more like your cadence. and maybe add some aussie slang if you’re so inclined.

 **Junkrat** :  
this is like 8 pages long, i really gotta?

 **Roadhog** :  
yes.  
before you get on game.

 **Junkrat** :  
Yes MUM.

 **Roadhog** :  
You told me it was due in two days.

 **Junkrat** :  
i know i know. just bein a shit. I’ll give er a look.  
thanks.  
again, i mean.  
really.

_**Roadhog** is typing..._

Several minutes pass.

 **Roadhog** :  
np.

Jamie starts by rereading the sparknotes edition of the book to remind himself of the basics before diving into the essay. Roadhog has obviously simplified the language a bit already but he goes through and re-words a couple sections to sound more in his cadence. The way Roadhog writes about it, the book actually sounds pretty fascinating and for a moment Jamie wishes he had the patience to sit down and go over it himself.

Long strings of words have never been able to hold his attention, and he’s bad at following plots from one sitting to another. His performance in English class has always been abysmal due to it. Roadhog said that wasn’t anything too serious, and that everyone took in information differently - that Jamie’s brain was just a bit odd, but it was still good.

His interactions with this guy from the internet remain the only time he’s not just been assumed lazy or stupid for his tics since he was an anklebiter. He doesn’t know what to feel about that. Part of him wants to run around town in his hole-filled jacket and toss homemade cherry bombs into the air. The other half of him wants to curl in bed and sleep. It’s electric like the anticipation of results from a new chemical mix. It’s calming like Saturday mornings when foster mum’s at work and he has the house to himself. It’s confusing and lovely.

A couple hours pass as he edits, putting more effort into the process than he probably needed to. He pulls up the email again and hits reply.

  

 

 

> **Junkrat** <upinflamesjr@gmail.com>
> 
> Hey you’ve obviously done enough but if you feel like it maybe you could check this over before i give it a print?
> 
> Attachment:  
>  pi report jedit.docx

  
Hmm, what now. His cursor hovers over the game’s launch icon but he pulls away and sighs, turning to his backpack. He has some maths he should be doing. It was a pretty easy subset of it for him luckily, but the teacher was going to be checking that they did it.

This is so lame, a voice in his head mutters derisively. What is he even doing? Sitting down for homework. What a waste of time. He twitches to scratch old itches and sighs with increasing frustration.

_you need to though. focus. get out of school. get out of town. prove them wrong. step by step. focus._

The words come into his head like they’re said by Roadhog, a voice he feels because he doesn’t know. Foster mum looks proud when she brings up a microwave meal and he’s hunched at a dramatic angle over a math textbook. When he finishes, the little black container the food came from is tossed in the trash bin just as his speakers beep. He nearly jumps.

 

 

 

> From: **Roadhog** <roadhog.mr@gmail.com>  
>  nice additions, looks good. good work.

 

He breathes in slowly, and then lets it out.

 _good_.

Cool.

 

\---

 

When his classmates walk across the stage, it is to lists: the announcer mentions classes they achieved honours in, and minor grants and scholarships they applied for and got. They mention what extracurriculars they did, and any significant community volunteering that was done.

When Jamison’s name is called, there is nothing but they acknowledgement that he received his ACT.

It is enough.

There’s no polite applause or a parent that runs down the aisle to take his photo shaking the hand of the school’s administrator (though foster mum is in the crowd.) There are a couple snickers at his outfit; the dress pants from the thrift store are ill-fitting and the small stain on the dress shirt is probably obvious under the bright lights of the school gymnasium.

He did it though. It’s done. None of the teachers on the stage look happy about it but fuck them.

The essay had been a massive chunk of his English grade and that was the only reason he passed that class. There is no doubt in his mind that the teacher googled every other sentence in the paper, looking for signs of copy-pasted arguments but found none. He scraped by in his other classes, only really confident in his old friends chemistry and shop. Enough teachers were pissed at him that he still doesn’t receive anything over a moderately passing grade. That’s fine. Roadhog has told him again and again that employers don’t give a shit what his grades were. It’s all fine.

Foster mum asks for a photograph in front of the tacky _Class of ‘16_ banner and he obliges, finding it in himself to grin toothily when he sees that jackass who punched him early in the school year looking his way. The guy flips him off. He wants to go home and get the fuck to bed.

He’s still shaking by the time he climbs into the old Corolla, stomach squirming with the excessive intake of sweet finger-foods catered for the graduation ceremony. Too many people were looking at him. If he didn’t belong on an average day, he certainly didn’t in rooms of shined shoes and suits.

“I’m proud of you, Jamie.” Foster mum smiles at him in the soft light of the car’s displays. He thinks he detects more relief in her voice than pride, but he might be projecting. He nods. Potholes mark the ellipses of the ride.

He almost does flop directly into bed, but he spares a look at his computer first. There are several numbers in a red circle above his discord icon.

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Roadhog said you were graduating today, **@Junkrat** , congratulations!!!

 **Tracer** :  
Oh cool, grats!!

 **a female version of a hustler:**  
Not bad!  
Dont get too drunk after lmao

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Stop being a bad influence, Hana. You’re even younger than he is.  
Though if that is customary there, please be sure to be responsible!

 **a female version of a hustler:**  
Hey, im 18!  
probably isn’t tho lol im just joking.  
But who knows. Go get some, nerd!

 **Tracer** :  
Some what? ;o

 **Lucioh-oh:**  
Hey dude, grats when you see this!

A bit more banter from the group chat of his fellow gamers follows. He smiles and feels a little calmer.

 **Junkrat** :  
Thanks ya cunts <3 <3 <3

There’s no answer for a couple minutes as he shucks off the uncomfortable too-tight pants and shirt. He assumes everyone’s gone to bed. He’s about to shut his computer down, feeling drained and ready for an early bedtime, when another notification pops up, this time in a direct message.

 **Roadhog** :  
How did it go?

Jamie sits back down.

 **Junkrat** :  
bloody awkward  
but it’s done  
no thanks to that meddling kiwi

 **Roadhog** :  
good.  
congratulations.

 **Junkrat** :  
Awe i woulda thought the occasion deserved some emotion  
like iunno  
Excitement!

 **Roadhog** :  
!!!

 **Junkrat** :  
Man alive calm down, i said get excited not throw a rager  
we dont need you runnin to your inhaler again big guy

 **Roadhog** :  
sorry i’ll tone it back down.

Jamie titters and feels the anxiety that has been coiling in his gut all day slowly unwind.

Neither of them types for awhile, and Jamie knows it’s late for Roadhog, whose shifts are usually quite early in the morning. He stayed up late. For him? Probably not.

 **Junkrat** :  
Is it bad that it doesn’t feel as… idk… good or important as i thought ti would?  
still a lot to do  
gotta find a job

 **Roadhog** :  
you’ll be fine.  
you’re allowed to take a minute to feel accomplished.

 **Junkrat** :  
yeah i guess

He hears bottles clink from downstairs. He sighs.

 **Junkrat** :  
tho idk if i deserve anything when you helped me so much  
not that im really complaining but  
y’know  
also thanks again.

 **Roadhog** :  
it’s not wrong to need help. you should have had that kind of support to begin with but as we’ve discussed the educational system is shit.

 **Roadhog** :  
i would have failed at least one of my classes in uni if it wasn’t one angela was taking too. she helped me study the stuff that didn’t come naturally. it’s the same thing.  
well, not so much the book report part but.

 **Junkrat** :  
hah. :p

His eyes drift to the clock at the corner of the screen. 1:31 AM.

 **Junkrat** :  
Go to sleep, hoggy  
don’t you work in like, 7 hours?

 **Roadhog** :  
five and a half

 **Junkrat** :  
Fuck, go to bed you asshole!

 **Roadhog** :  
now who’s being a mum.

 **Junkrat** :  
go!  
to!  
bed!

 **Roadhog** :  
<3

Jamie’s heart skips a beat and he thinks he forgets to breathe for a second. Roadhog’s status dot goes grey.

He’s not so sure he feels like going to sleep anymore, but he mechanically shuts off the computer and crawls into bed anyway while something like hope vibrates under his skin.

 

\---

 

They’re asked to join a guild.

It is met with a significant amount of grumbling. They both oppose to the idea on principle. Jamie doesn’t want to deal with more people in his gaming experience. The handful he’s come to know - and even like - through Roadhog, and therefore through Mercy, are quite enough for him. Roadhog doesn’t like being associated with anything or anyone openly, apparently. Guilds put a name over your head that imply you are part of a larger group, which people could have opinions about. Opinions which often came before their opinion of you.

Ugh. _Ugh_.

**[Mercy] (team): If you don’t like it you can always leave after, it’s not a huge deal.**

**[Mercy] (team): oh gosh that may have sounded too flippant. I just mean-- you’re not trapped in a commitment.**

**[Mercy] (team): Roadhog had just been talking about raid content and the one I joined has been active and pretty nice in that regard.**

**[Junkrat] (team): to be fair, merc**

**[Junkrat] (team): everyone’s nice to you. you’re you.**

**[Mercy] (team): >.>;**

**[Junkrat] (team): see look at how adorable that emoticon is.**

**[Mercy] (team): Shush, you.**

Some time passes. Junkrat, Mercy and Makune- Roadhog’s newer secondary character - are in a team each minding their own business. Well, Junkrat is watching over the area where Makune’s low-level arse is playing just in case.

**[Mercy] (team): I’m sure I can pull some strings and have you join on your alts instead, if you’re uncomfortable.**

It’s like she’s reading his mind, Jamie sighs. He’s caved and started an alternate character of his own, partially to build something more optimized than Junkrat, partially to avoid malicious attention, and partially to muck around with Roadhog in low level areas.

Roadhog had spent no less than half an hour telling him that Trashmouse was not an appropriate name to lie low with, no matter how funny Jamie thought it was. When he finally popped out in the starting area with a manic-eyed mage creation named “Trashfire,” Roadhog declared he officially gave up on him as a human being with taste. _Ah shit I could have used dumpster fire, you’re right_ , Jamie had retorted with, legitimately kicking himself. He could just imagine Roadhog sighing and pinching his temples.

**[Mercy] (team): Guys?**

**[Mercy] (team): I’m sorry I’m probably being too pushy I just thought it might help.**

**[Roadhog] (team): honestly it’s been a bad day for me. I’ll probably do it just.**

**[Roadhog] (team): tomorrow.**

Jamie sits up straight in his chair.

**[Junkrat] (whisper) what’s wrong?**

**[Mercy] (team): Oh I’m sorry to hear that… I’ll talk to the guild about your alts and then leave you be.**

**[Mercy] (team): Junkrat? What do you think?**

He flips back to team chat easily, barely giving a thought to his reply.

**[Junkrat] (team): yeah sure.**

**[Mercy] (team): Excellent.**

**[Mercy] (team): I  have to take off now. Have a good evening, friends. And I hope you feel better, Roadhog!**

She leaves the group. Jamie gnaws on his lip as he waits.

**[Makune] (team): want to do neries with trash?**

**[Junkrat] (team): yeah, sure.**

He switches characters on a dime and heads towards the area. Both Roadhog and Junkrat are max level now, and mostly working on gear. These alts give them something to do to pass the time and a convenient excuse to play together; Makune is a druid and far less suited to playing solo than a paladin even with the tankier build he’s going with. Trashfire the mage is frail as well but Jamie is building him with min-maxing for pure damage in mind. He gets to the area Roadhog had requested, which was good for a experience on a slow grind, without many goal-oriented quests. He begins cycling through his buffs to join Makune in mob destruction.

**[Trashfire] (team): So…? If you don’t mind me askin…**

A moment passes. Some things die.

**[Makune] (team): bad day at work.**

**[Makune] (team): and it’s mum’s anniversary.**

**[Trashfire] (team): oh… shit i’m sorry..**

**[Trashfire] (team): did you wanna tlak about it?**

Makune shines golden with a level but he doesn’t pause to address it. Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable has sprung into Jamie’s stomach immediately.

**[Makune] (team): no.**

**[Makune] (team): its nothing personal.**

**[Makune] (team): i’d just rather do something mindless if that’s alright.**

**[Trashfire] (team): of course. im here for you or uhm. yeah you know.**

The last part sounds really stupid in his mind and he cringes. He realizes this feeling is probably empathy. Or pity. He just wants Roadhog to feel better and it twists inside him. Roadhog is always the stoic, strong one who had the answers. What can he do? There was no answer for this.

**[Makune] (team): thank you.**

Jamie frets and worries but he keeps his mouth- or at least his fingers quiet. Soon he too is consumed in the pleasant boredom of grinding experience and the feeling fades until it’s almost entirely in the background. If this is what Roadhog wants to heal, he can be here for that.

Four hours of therapeutic nothing later, at least two hours past when he would normally stay up, Roadhog tells him in short, matter-of-fact sentences about how he almost punched a homophobe at work even though the joke of a comment wasn’t directed at anyone he knew and how the others had laughed along with him. He tells him about how his father had left him five incredibly drunk voicemails while he’d been onsite with his phone off. The content of which made him so uncomfortable that he didn’t want to visit the gravesite in case he met the man there, stumbling and making an ass of himself. He thinks he’s going to call in sick to work tomorrow. He’ll sleep in, and then go see the gravesite then.

It’s all communicated in his usual, stoic and direct online cadence. It still feels different.

**[Trashfire] (team): I think that’s a good idea… you need a break.**

**[Makune] (team): what i actually need is the money.**

**[Trashfire] (team): break first. You work so hard. You deserve it.**

**[Makune] (team): mm.**

Eventually there’s a quiet parting of ways. The last message Jamie types to the night is *hug* and he feels like a fucking moron. It turns out to be as he’s logging off, and Jamie has no idea if the other man would have seen it.

Oh well.

He hopes he helped.

 

\---

 

Finding a job in a small town with a juvie criminal record is difficult.

He spends an extra few cents to get his resumes printed on nicer paper but it doesn’t really help the lack of content on them. Too many people already working at the local grocery store know his name and face so he knows that’s a crapshoot the second he walks in. He begs the guys at the mechanics shop to let him intern or something to learn the ropes, because he’s pretty sure one afternoon with a wreck and he could take it apart and put it back together again from scratch. They’d have to see he was good at it and hire him.

The smell of grease oil and metallic tang of the run-down car repair shop makes him feel nostalgic for something he’s never actually had. He sucks in a deep breath in front of the burly man behind the counter.

“I’m actually _really_ good with this shit. You won’t regret it! I promise it won’t be a waste a your-”

“Ain’t you the kid that used to throw firecrackers in peoples’ exhausts?”

Jamie’s heart sinks.

The man stares him down and the sound of him chewing his tobacco now seems loud compared to the noise from jacks and welding machines from the shop. Jamie struggles to come up with something.

“I was… kind of a shit kid, mate, I’m not gonna lie-”

“It was last year. You gave me a lot of work that day.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” His voice is getting a desperate sort of angry that doesn’t sound familiar coming out of his own mouth. “I fucked up. I get it. But I’m actually good at this and I’m not gonna do any more stupid shit-”

“I’m not interested.”

Jamie walks outside of the building, down the gravel beside the road for a bit, then stoops to pick up a displaced chunk of concrete and whips it with all his strength into a nearby chain-link fence. It bounces and rattles and he kind of wants to scream. The odd car drives by and his hair is whipped; it’s starting to get colder.

The walk home will take awhile.

Every day that goes by, foster mum is a little more impatient about how long it’s taking, though her quips don’t come often enough to hurt too much; she can see he’s been trying.

“What if you tried applying online some places instead of just playing games on that thing?”

“I can’t move out of town until I have some money. Are you gonna lend me first and last?”

She sighs low enough that he probably wasn’t intended to hear. They eat the rest of supper in silence before he goes up to his room.

He doesn’t feel like turning on the computer.

 

\---

 

 **Mercy, on call:**  
You weren’t around yesterday, is everything alright? I think Roadhog was worried.

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Sorry if that was overstepping… I just figured it was a bit irregular for him to even mention something. I worry about you two. : <

 **Junkrat** :  
You worry about me?

 **Mercy, on call:**  
I worry about everyone :p  
Forgive me for thinking we’re maybe approaching friendship though.

 **Junkrat** :  
Idk i have a rigorous three part exam to pass that bar.  
Think you’ve got the stuff, ange?

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Bring it.

 **Junkrat** :  
Ive got a body i need dumped, stat.

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Oh it’s a bit far for me to walk but I have some interesting articles I could link that I’m sure to help out?

She’s typing a list of surprisingly graphic suggestions before he can stop her. He watches in fascination and, occasionally horror.

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Or if you wanted to go by water, you could reduce bloat with, dangit I forget, let me grab a text book-

 **Junkrat** :  
ANGE  
Hooley dooley you an angel of mercy or death here  
It was a joke, christ

 **Mercy, on call:**  
^_~

 **Junkrat** :  
fine, you pass the test.  
ya crazy cunt.  
fuckin… ANYWAY….  
Just some frustrating rl stuff.

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Job hunt things? =/

 **Junkrat** :  
mhm

 **Mercy, on call:**  
Surely there must be something out there…

 **Junkrat** :  
This place is so goddamn tiny, there’s like no options and everyone knows and subsequently hates me

 **Mercy, on call:**  
I’m sorry… I wish I could help.

He types “me too,” but doesn’t send it.

 

\---

 

They do end up joining the guild.

Without school, Jamie has had more than enough time to level up his fire mage and Makune is a respectable level as well. They do dungeons with their small group of friends but the stories they hear from Mercy, Lucio, and Tracer about the exciting raid content they’ve participated in sounds like a tantalizing challenge and an even better distraction from Jamie’s poor fortunes.

Roadhog joins with his main; Makune is a fun change to his routine but he much prefers his paladin for challenging areas. Also, he doesn’t have a reputation to hide like Jamie. Though, the internet’s memory is short. It probably wouldn’t be a huge problem anymore. He’ll wait and see.

He’s expressed his guilt with turning to the game when he should be finding a job, but Roadhog reminds him he’s doing plenty and he can’t make employers move any faster. He says he should maybe relax; adulthood does not come all at once.

Okay. Relaxing. He can totally do that.

The guild is called Nomads because teenagers online are really creative. He joins Roadhog in almost immediately muting the guild channel because it’s filled with obnoxious chatter. He has to join their discord server (which he also mutes) as it’s how they coordinate raids.

**[Trashfire] (whisper): what a bloody hassle**

**[Roadhog] (whisper): yeah.**

**[Roadhog] (whisper): if we can get that staff for you though from krono.**

**[Trashfire] (whisper): hngggg yeah.**

**[Trashfire] (whisper): I saw that plat shards drop there too? Good for your armor**

**[Roadhog] (whisper): i added us to the ping list on discord for when they run it.**

**[Trashfire] (whisper): aces, thanks**

They burn through a couple daily quests side-by-side and then sit around being lazy and talking about music. Jamie links him some obscure Australian punk and Roadhog shares some atmospheric instrumental pieces that Jamie finds legitimately relaxing despite being something he would have never sought out himself. They both soon admit that they’re only sharing their most respectable of tastes. Jamie ventures that he’s got a thing for spastic video game remixes. It takes some goading, but Roadhog begrudgingly types something about liking a vocaloid song or two and Jamie laughs so loud that foster mum bangs on the ceiling to get him to shut up.

 

\---

 

It’s the day of the raid and apparently voice chat is a thing.

He’s rewired an old headset that he pilfered from commtech class a couple years ago that his teacher was throwing away because it didn’t work. It wasn’t hard at all for him to fix and now he’s listening to a bunch of voices he has no interest in as they gather for the raid and discuss tactics.

They’re starting soon. Roadhog is on his way back from work but he should make it in time. He fidgets in anticipation and is working through another sketchbook backwards to keep his hands busy.

“Aww, shame Mercy’s not around! Do we have enough healers?”

Tracer’s strong British accent is charming. A couple other guys pipe up to say they should be fine. Light tones punctuate the conversation as people join. He watches the names until Roadhog’s joins the list.

He stiffens. Wait. Would Roadhog be talking? The guild was pretty strict about needing to communicate to coordinate to succeed and Roadhog would be one of the anchor tanks so it would be importan-

“Hey.”

Jamie nearly squeaks. Roadhog’s name lit up when he heard that. That was him, right? That really deep voice? Uh?

“We almost ready?”

“I think Tostat is afk.”

“If you need any food buffs? I prepped some.”

“Trade me?”

“Who?”

“Fastblades.”

“I’m back, we ready?”

“I _think_ everyone’s here. Start buffing.”

“Might or spirit of protection?”

Oh shit oh fuck. Yeah that was definitely him that time amidst the chatter. Holy shit.

Trashfire stands there like a moron while everyone cycles through their pre-raid buffs. That voice goes from his slightly crackling headphones straight to his gut and down into his toes.

That’s the guy he’s been talking to for like a year. But he sounded so-

He actually does squeak at the next thought.

_Shit shit shit shit._

“Rat? You ready?” Holy shit Roadhog was talking to him.

“Who?” A different voice.

“Sorry, Trash.”

There’s an eyeroll in Roadhog’s voice that Jamie pretty much misses because he’s busy having an out-of-body experience.

_God cunting damnit._

“I think he was here-”

Tracer’s distinct tone snaps him back into his chair a little too fast and he clears his throat with a high-pitched titter.

“Y-yea, sorry mate! Had to afk a tick.”

His voice is pitiful and stuttering with fake, strained bravado. He probably sounds like a cartoon. His face is burning.

“Ahh your accent is so cute!”

Roadhog’s name lights up again with something that sounds like a ruddy grunt of amusement. His stomach does another summersault.

“Speak for yaself, luv.”

He mimics the cockney accent as best as he can while having a panic attack. Jamie manages to find his mouse and keyboard with twitching fingers and scrolls to find his bomb build before remembering he’s not on Junkrat. Suddenly all of the variations on flame graphics in his hotkeys don’t mean anything and he’s scrambling to follow along with the other dps characters into the raid.

Tracer’s lightning-quick rogue dashes around with a couple other similarly skilled characters and groups huddle together to keep things manageable. Thankfully, muscle memory eventually takes back over enough that Trashfire isn’t completely left in the dust by the other mages, even with his work-in-progress gear. His knee is jumping a mile a minute and he wishes he had some upbeat music to focus his head’s energy into.

Then again, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hear the rare instances of Roadhog’s voice.

Roadhog- fucking _Mako_ \- didn’t speak often, but when he does it cuts through the chatter of pre-and-post prepubescent boys attempting to coordinate with a stone-dense bass.

The raid is at least pretty engaging, and playing on a scale so large brings a new sense of accomplishment. He even contributes to the chat at times, calling out progress and errors like the others are. When he’s able to look away from his cooldowns and the mobs he’s managing, he sees Roadhog in his dark angular armor holding the line with the other tanks, like the absolute badass he was. He kind of wishes his character stood out half as much in the crowd.

The whole affair passes in a whirlwind of digital fire and lots of hastily spoken acronyms, and it feels like both a full day and about five minutes have passed by the end. His palm is sweating on his mouse and he removes it to wipe on his pant leg, which is still jittering.

“Good job.”

It’s a steady, calm undercurrent to the sea of overlapping voices talking about their loot drops. It feels like it’s aimed at him.

“Was fun, ta!” Jamie chokes out before leaving the call abruptly.

His room is suddenly quiet except for the sound of his own blood thumping in his ears. Jamie sits in the silence and prepares to deal with the absolutely inexorable fact that he has a crush on that one guy he met in a video game.

“ _Shit_.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor CW for some homophobic slurs in this chapter.
> 
> Hope everyone had a good holiday! Thanks again to [Thyme Basalt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) for dealing with this horseshit.
> 
> Also look I got some [awesome fanart from carnagekiid](http://carnagekiid.tumblr.com/post/168904573976/roadratsecretsanta-i-was-armatages-s-secret)! Check it out!

Jamieson is a loser with a crush but at least now he’s a loser with a _job_.

Fucking finally.

The tiny town’s primary gas station is on the edge of town and caters more to people driving by on the highway than the town’s own citizens. The owner was in urgent need for a new night shift employee after his last one stole a significant chunk of cash from the register while clearly on camera. Jamie was the only one desperate enough and ready and willing the day after. The owner was still relatively new in town and in enough of a hurry to not look too closely into his past.

Especially when no one else jumped at the opportunity to work part time, midnight to eight in the morning watching over gas pumps for minimum wage.

So now he spends three or four nights a week staring into the distance from inside a miniature convenience store beside a cash register serving a handful of truckers a night and dealing with his own personal hell.

His brain.

Jamie is not the type of person who ever put a significant amount of thought into his own… thoughts. Kind words, support, and the bass-heavy voice of a angel had lulled him,, unsuspecting into a crush that occupied his mind during the long night hours.

His thoughts fall into one of three categories.

First, his sexuality.

With everything else kicking around in his life, which gender he's attracted to had come up very little. He always figured that would be something he worried about at some later date, when he was out of a stagnant position and surrounded by people who wouldn’t judge his choice.

He’s never really thought of himself as straight ever since he learned as a tyke that there were other options. He never been sure if he’s gay, bi or pan. All he knows that sometimes he stares a little too long at some of the large truckers that stop by the station, and that he is head-over-heels for some guy he’s never met.

 _Queer_ , Roadhog had used the word once. It works well enough. He’s queer. No one needs to know in this place. He knows it. That is fine.

Secondly, this is probably pretty inappropriate. Roadhog- Mako, rather, is a four years his senior and has his life significantly more together than Jamie’s broke scrawny ass. If the guy got any inkling that Jamie is crushing on him just for saying a few nice things and being a decent human being, he would probably be done with him. It wouldn’t be a stretch to write him off as a desperate creep for chasing after the first person to show him any real attention. It’s pathetic.

And thirdly… even if something happened, he is also in another country, even if it was still a close one. Long distance relationships are a thing but not something he could ever fathom being in. This, of course, makes him imagine the possibility. Would he do that for Roadhog? Exchange sweet nothings over discord and share less-than-threes?

_You’re already doing that, cunt._

He leans his head against the register’s display and groans. The answer is yes. It is absolutely yes and he hates it.

“I’m a creeeeep, I’m a weirdoooo…” he croons quietly to the racks of chips.

“What the hell am I doing _heeeeer_ \- welcome mate!”

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he’d missed a beleaguered looking driver filling up his beaten-up toyota. He rings the guy up with a fake, distracted smile and the guy is on his way. The toothy grin lasts a few seconds too long as his brain is already running away on another track far from the fluorescent lights and faint smell of diesel.

He’s so screwed.

 

\---

 

He nicks his mother’s outdated digital camera and he’s twirling its memory card in his long, deft fingers. The other thing he grabbed downstairs was a can of fosters and while the alcoholic content is miserably low, it might have just enough kick to push him to do what he’s thinking about doing.

He slots the card into his computer and takes a sip. This is dumb. This is really dumb.

His new work schedule has complicated the times he can play the game with Roadhog. It’s not too bad; Jamie is typically sleeping through most of Mako’s shift. They can still grab a couple hours from the time he gets home to when Junkrat has to leave, and he’s not working every night. Jamie doesn’t quite feel like playing tonight though, and Roadhog has just been occasionally messaging through their chat program of choice.

Jamie is messaging back, but he’s become hyper-aware of his interactions with Roadhog as of late. It’s incredibly frustrating because Roadhog is really the only person that it feels natural to be totally open with. Mercy and Lucio are great but somehow it doesn’t feel the same. He busies his hands with pulling up the memory card’s content and skimming it.

Old shots of a trailer foster mum sold off a couple years back, some shots from an aunt’s christmas party. His graduation.

It’s been almost a year since he got the hell out of high school, and about four months since he started his job at the gas station. Life is dull as hell but at least he’s getting paid now, though he’s been unable to save as much as he’d like now that foster mum’s requested he pay a bit in rent, and buy his own food and new clothes. It’s shockingly hard to save up enough to move out, but he has started sending out resumes to a nearby city, a fair few steps larger than this hole in the ground. He thinks he’s almost there.

He’s spent the time working on art and mechanics projects on the side, making his room an even bigger clusterfuck. He still plays frequently, with Roadhog, the small group of friends surrounding the pair, and he even occasionally puts up with guild randoms to get things done. Trashfire is a terrifyingly efficient damage dealer that even D’Va approves of. He’s gone back to working on Junkrat, though he’s running out of things to do that break new ground. At Roadhog’s side, he’s barely touched with the paladin being an unbreakable wall of deadly shield. Mercy loves playing with them because of how reliable they are, which she says with no small amount of gratitude considering her usual edging frustration with guild members in raids.

Jamie moves forward and lives and things feel painfully slow and weirdly fast at the same time. Roadhog curbs his impatience with shocking consistency. Jamie would be crawling up the walls without his reassurances and help managing his tricklingly accumulating funds from the other man. He should probably be able to calm himself _by_ himself by now, but relying on Roadhog is far more efficient and makes him feel less lonely.

Also it feeds his crush in incredibly selfish ways. He tries not to feel guilty. It works some of the time.

It is slow as hell but he’s making progress in life. He sits there on his same old chair though and is downing the cheap beer in an attempt to push past a debate he’s been teetering on the edge of for some time.

Should he send this nine month old photo to show Roa-Mako what he looks like.

Even with the light buzz, the thoughts repeat themselves again and again.

_Coming on too strong._

_What excuse are you coming up with for why you’re sending this?_

_Being creepy._

_This is as bad as an idea as it was the first time you thought of it-_

_Fine. Sit here without ever moving forward and never know if he’d even be interested. Sit like a stagnant coward piece of shit-_

He hasn’t been impulsive for awhile, but goddamnit he’s doing it now. He double clicks the photo and hastily types an accompanying tagline.

 **Roadhog** :  
do you want to do the red cliffs run on thursday.  
  
**Junkrat** :  
Lol look what i found on mum’s camera  
[Image uploaded: **IMG_035** ]  
  
**Junkrat** :  
and yeah, sure. i dont work that night so i can stay up.

Play it cool, Jamie. He immediately turns away from the computer to look at anything else in his room but the screen. The picture has barely loaded before he realizes how crappy he looks a year ago with his poorly tamed hair, uncomfortable button-up shirt and too-tight dress pants. Maybe not the greatest first impression-

_**Roadhog** is typing…_

All thoughts cease. The message stays for several seconds before disappearing. It appears again, and again it disappears.

“Just say something you massive asswipe,” he mutters to himself, knee starting to jump.

Five minutes pass. They are five of the most painful minutes Jamie has ever suffered through.

Suddenly, the chat jumps up and he starts in his chair.

 **Roadhog** :  
[Image uploaded: **idk.jpg** ]

Jamie makes a choked sound. Roadhog has responded with a photo of his own. It’s a bathroom-mirror selfie.

Jamie’s picture above is scrawny and awkward, though his grin is toothy.

Roadhog- MAKO’s is fucking massive in the best way. A black t-shirt shirt barely covers the bulge of his stomach and the arms holding the camera are thick with pronounced muscle. His hair is dyed a silvery grey and pulled up in a tight upward-pointing ponytail much like the design of his game character. Black roots show along the sides of his head. His thick lips don’t hide a pretty significant underbite and heavy brows complete the look. He looks impassive, stoic, and every bit _exactly_ like what Roadhog should look like.

Neither of them type for what feels like an incredibly long time.

The sound of foster mum opening and closing the door downstairs coming back from work smacks him out of his Mako-induced trance. Shit. He should really type something. He should really really say something.

 **Junkrat** :  
Cool.

He lets out a strangled squawk. HOW WAS THAT THE APPROPRIATE THING TO TYPE IN THIS SITUATION?

 **Junkrat** :  
I mean

Wait. What the fuck can he type there that didn’t sound horrendously gay? ‘ _I like your look, bro._ ’?

Oh no. too much time was passing. He’s just made things worse. Why did he type anything? Maybe he should just delete his account for awhile and pretend a lightning bolt struck his computer.

 **Roadhog** :  
lol.

He is going to fucking cry.

 **Roadhog** :  
just thought i’d share to be even.  
  
**Junkrat** :  
sharing is caring!

What the FUCK Jamison!?

He scrolls up again and this time he happens to notice Roadhog’s nails are painted. This is it. The end is nigh. He finally gets to see his crush and immediately becomes too gay to function. He wonders if he should make a note that they should write that on his tombstone.

Another ping. Shit. He scrolls back down.

 **Roadhog** :  
… okay then.

Shit. Roadhog is probably seeing through his panic.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hah it’s all good maet  
  
**Roadhog** :  
sorry i probably made that weird.  
  
**Junkrat** :  
No!!  
I mnea  
defintaly not.  
wow  
you look big  
I mean you are!  
  
**Roadhog** :  
... i can’t tell if you’re making fun or having a stroke  
  
**Junkrat** :  
fuck  
i mean  
like in a good way!  
Haha im just being weird ignore you  
me  
i mean  
it was cool  
to see you  
legit  
  
**Roadhog** :  
………

Look at all of those ellipses he earned. Shit.

 **Roadhog** :  
okay.  
you can stop tripping over yourself it’s fine.  
i’m used to it.

 **Junkrat** :  
What??  
  
**Roadhog** :  
you’re acting like a complete spaz. If you have something to say about the way i look, say it.  
it’s fine.

He feels the hurt from the label he’s been called one too many times by crueler people to be a coincidence. _Fuck, wait..._

 **Junkrat** :  
oh fucking christ u think im making fun of you  
Shit mate  
no  
I just’  
  
**Roadhog** :  
Jamie.

 **Junkrat** :  
You’re just super fucking hot okay???

Well, that escalated quickly.

_**Roadhog** is typing…_

It disappears again. Goddamnit.

 **Junkrat** :  
and now ive made things REALLY weird and i’m gonna like  
not for a bit  
sorry  
  
_**Roadhog** is typing…_

He shuts the program.

_Ffffffuuuuuuuucccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk._

 

\---

 

He feels way too guilty and bored to stay away for more than a few hours. He spends the time trying to read a technical manuals about car repair (he knows he can do it, he just needs a chance to prove himself) but mostly he just ends up staring at the same motor diagram for way too long.

_I just looked like an asshole logging off. God it wouldn’t have been that weird to just say he looked good. Why am I such a fuckup._

The longer he waits the more he’s going to look like a dick. That was such a bad move. He clicks on discord again. It’s 2 am.

He notices a direct message from Mercy first, oddly enough. There’s nothing new from Roadhog. He feels ten times worse.

 **Mercy** :  
Hey, did something happen with Roadhog?  
We were teaming and he went to bed early saying something about you uhm…  
Are you okay?

Oh geeze.

 **Junkrat** :  
Uh  
what did he say?  
  
**Mercy** :  
It doesn’t work like that, dear.

The fact that Roadhog may have had to talk to his other friend to vent about him feels so rotten. Jamie is the worst friend. It is him.

 **Junkrat** :  
well, uhh… we kinda  
shared pictures?  
and i kinda flailed around like a goddamn wanker  
and i think he thought i was making fun of him?  
so that kind of dragged out me saying that i thought he was hot???  
and then i got embarassed and logged off  
maybe he still thought i was making fun of him  
but i  
wasn’t?  
so yeah  
Theres that.  
  
**Mercy** :  
Oh dear.

 **Junkrat** :  
Yeah. Oh dear.

Now Mercy practically knows about his crush too. Great. Why not.

 **Mercy** :  
Well… there’s certainly nothing wrong with finding another man attractive.  
Mako isn’t homophobic, I seriously don’t think he would be offended by that.

 **Junkrat** :  
He told me ages ago he’s gay, I was just so WEIRD though.  
why do i have to be the way i am  
Fuck.

 **Mercy** :  
Oh Junkrat… you’re fine the way you are.  
I’m sorry that things got a little… awkward, with you guys.  
If it helps, he just sounded a bit confused not… angry or anything.  
I’m sorry I probably didn’t help by making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s just unusual for him to mention anything at all, you know how it is.  
I just worry.  
Anyway, I know he cares a lot about you! I wouldn’t stress too much.

 **Junkrat** :  
Still not sure why.  
dont know why he added me to friends in the first place or why he kept talking to me.

 **Mercy** :  
Hun… I know it’s early for us night shifters, but maybe you should just get some sleep. I promise time will help you feel better. This is just a little silly weirdness that you two will get past.

 **Junkrat** :  
Ehn… you’re probably right.  
G’night, merc. Thanks.

 **Mercy** :  
Get your rest. <3

He sighs. He will take her advice and go to bed, but he should type something to Roadhog first. Something that he actually puts thought into instead of his usual stream of consciousness bullshit.

Okay. Okay.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey hoggy, sorry for logging off. That was kind of a dick move.  
I was just flustered. We’ve known each other for a long time and seeing you caught me a bit off guard. You know how bloody awkward i can get.  
Also maybe I’m a bit intimidated? I’m just a scrawny little shit and you’re like… impressive. Everything about you is impressive.  
Anyway, yeah I’m sorry for being a confused confusing mess. Hope work doesn’t suck tomorrow. Ta.

Okay. Hopefully that was enough. It might not have been everything but it’s still all true. Roadhog is impressive. He is intimidating.

Jamie looks pretty lame in comparison.

He sighs, enough with the negative thoughts. He’ll follow doctor’s orders and go to bed. This overblown nothing will be better in the morning.

 

\---

 

 **Roadhog** :  
i’m sorry too.  
i shouldn’t have gotten upset. i’m just used to getting shit for my looks and i got defensive.  
also, you look nice too. _[edited]_

They move on without further comment.

 

\---

 

He thinks about getting a phone but he stresses too much about the damn money. He’s neurotic about keeping a chart of his expenses and looking up what it costs to live in the city. The idea of recurring bills paralyzes him and the only carrier that provides in this tiny town charges through the roof. He mostly wishes he had something to do during the long work hours but he sticks with cheap dollar store notebooks, sketching ideas and testing his memory in building conceptual engines. He still dreams of being a mechanic once he can get out of the shadow of his reputation.

He’s also freaked out a bit about Roadhog. Things have been mostly normal but the memory still twinges awkwardly and awfully around his head.

Foster mum has started dating and it’s the absolute worst. The guy makes no secret of not being fond of his dirty room and dirty self and Jamie suspects his input is part of why he’s being asked to pay rent. Not that he blames her that much- money has always been very tight and the car’s been having troubles- but it still sucks. Sometimes he walks in after work to their morning afterglow and it makes him want to puke.

He’s never wanted a relationship. He’s never even thought of it. It just wasn’t a thing. The combination of seeing excessive amounts of pda combined with the photo he still has saved on his pc has rather changed that.

God. That photo. He feels guilty every time he clicks on it so he keeps it to a minimum. Even the miniature preview on his desktop makes him blush. Idk.jpg indeed.

As a couple weeks pass, he feels less rotten and more optimistic about the exchange. The fact that Roadhog apparently went out to take his own photo to share immediately said something, right? Jamie wishes he hadn’t immediately flipped the fuck out; maybe Roadhog would have said something a little more than an offhanded, probably guilted “nice” about his photo? That would have helped.

Though that implies there was anything to like about Jamie’s awkward old photo. Or Jamie at all.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror one night with his face screwed up. He tries relaxing and smiling, looking for things to like.

His hair is untamable as usual, light and blonde and horrifyingly dry. There are bags under his eyes from his odd sleep schedule, but in a strange way they contrast his odd golden-amber, almost orange eyes. He’s scrawny as hell despite how tall he is, and he supposes that some people might go for the lanky look? His canines are a bit sharper than average, as is his nose. Under the harsh bathroom lights his freckles are showing.

Ugh. What is he doing.

_Fuck it. Mako’s kinda atypical and you think he’s hot. Maybe he goes for skinny fucking idiots? Weirder things have happened._

In that moment he decides he’s going to try again. He would need to find an excuse though; a similar bathroom selfie would be too weird and obvious. Also, his bathroom was nowhere near as clean and nice as Mako’s.

He flicks the light off and wanders back to his room. It’s a goddamn wreck full of spare parts he’s pilfered from a junkyard on the edge of town that no one seems to own or at least care for anymore. He’s trying to build things though it’s tough without many tools. He did splurge on a cheap soldering iron which he’s been using to put together basic items.

 _What about one of those?_   He looks at the pile of half-completed projects. Roadhog’s always sound impressed by his engineering skills. He gets a dumb idea, but at least it’s an idea.

He grabs some old spray paint.

 

\---

 

His last fan was kind of crap so it’s not even a massive waste of time to finish this build. He’s fit one of his tidier, small engines to a stand with fixed up fan blades. For funsies he paints the blades a mix of blended yellow and orange. It creates a bit of a fiery optical illusion when turned on, and it provides a lot more of a breeze than his earlier model cobbled together just after highschool.

Perfect for a photo op.

He nicks foster mum’s camera while she’s at work and takes at least a dozen shots of himself enjoying the new fan before anxiously picking one out on his computer. None of them are particularly attractive and he’s honestly about to just give up on the project before shrugging and grabbing the silliest looking one and deleting the rest.

Whatever. This is a stupid idea to show himself off but hey, he was still showing off his creation and he’s kind of proud of how the thing came out.

Jamie sits just in front of the fan, with it occupying two thirds of this frame while his shoulders and up are in the foreground of the rest. Jamie’s grin is crooked and it shows off how off-kilter his jaw rests. His tongue is sticking out slightly and a canine peeks out. His hair is even more a mess in the breezy air. It’s not a terrible composition and not too obvious. He hopes.

 **Junkrat** :  
[Image uploaded: **im my biggest fan.jpg** ]  
i made a thing  
!!!

A couple minutes pass. Roadhog is probably afk. He pulls up youtube to watch random episodes of man at arms. While flipping through windows, he catches the most ominous message.

_**Roadhog** is typing…_

“Ah, shit…” he mutters to himself. He tries to focus back on his video. They sure are forging that impractical anime sword beautifully.

He gets through another two before the discord message sound beeps.

 **Roadhog** :  
very cool.

 _Cool_ , Jamie laughs at the irony and the deja vu.

 **Junkrat** :  
get it, because it’s a fan.  
Nice pun m8.  
  
**Roadhog** :  
i meant your building. smartass.   
did you make it all yourself.  
  
**Junkrat** :  
shit you mean you didn’t just produce a sudden sense of humour?  
Yeah. I built the engine and fixed up the fan blades from- okay i dont actually know what they came from but I had to adjust them a lot and get the rust off. And i painted it, of course.  
  
**Roadhog** :  
you should really be working in mechanics.  
  
**Junkrat** :  
yeah we discuss this like twice a week.

 **Roadhog** :  
sorry.

 **Junkrat** :  
it’s kinda frustrating  
the fact, not you.

He gets bored and tries not to be disappointed at Roadhog’s typical response. He pops the memory card back out and takes a closer shot of the fan showing his paint job without the blades spinning.

 **Junkrat** :  
[Image uploaded: **IMG_059** ]

 **Roadhog** :  
looks good.

Another few minutes pass and Jamie goes back to youtube.

 **Roadhog** :  
it was nice to see you.

_**Roadhog** is typing…_

The message appears, then it disappears, then it appears again. Jamie is going to pull out his hair. He wonders if you can turn off that feature even though he knows he wouldn’t. When the message is gone for another minute or two, he gives up and types the first thing that comes to mind.

 **Junkrat** :  
You should show me your bike sometime!

 **Roadhog** :  
sure.

Well, that was a fast answer.

 **Roadhog** :  
tomorrow, it’s late.  
i’ve got to get to bed.

 **Junkrat** :  
G’night!

 **Roadhog** :  
thanks.

His icon goes grey. That could have gone worse. Could have gone better too but…

Jamie sighs and cracks his neck. All this stress is making his spine get sore in odd places. He grabs his painkillers and settles in for a boring night.

 

\---

 

As soon as he wakes up he finds a photo sent to him while offline. The bike - the hog as he knows it’s called - is polished lovingly. There’s an adorable pink pig charm hanging off of the handlebars and it’s just so him.

Below that is a second photo of a top down attempt at a selfie while Mako sits on the bike. He’s in what appears to be a well-worn leather jacket with an adornment of colourful pins and his face is impassive but shaded dramatically by the early morning light. He obviously took these before even going to work. It’s awkward and poorly framed.

Jamie melts in his chair, far too incoherent to formulate a response for at least a couple hours.

 

\---

 

It becomes a weird sort of ritual.

Jamie hopes mum won’t notice the missing camera and snaps a photo of himself slumped over the counter at work in exaggerated boredom.

Mako sends a photo of himself with an adorable teacup with looping patterns.

Jamie sends a photo of himself surrounded by projects and junk on his floor, cheek smeared with grease.

Mako sends a photo of his massive hand holding a tiny plush pig. Out of focus in the background is a collection of more soft things. His nail polish remains an impeccable matte black.

They don’t comment on each other’s contributions in any significant capacity. Jamie has a folder on his desktop now called Roadhog and he gets to add one to it every other day or so. They’re like treasures he covets and rarely dares to look through. He can go from a bad day to sore cheeks from grinning with just this magic folder and he’s got it so damn bad.

 

\---

 

They’ve done a handful of raids in the last couple months. It’s the only game content that’s challenging anymore besides pvp, which they are starting to think about getting into. He enjoys the chance to hear Mako’s voice and work together with the others though and he joins as many as he can, some even when Roadhog isn’t present.

Today Jamie is sitting down with a healthy amount of painkillers after having a particularly rough night at work. He’s about ready to get on his knees and beg his boss to let him bring in a stool. His lower back and feet are screwed. He’s more than prepared for a night of gaming though, with a bottle of far-too-sugary soda close by his mouse.

“Ready ta go, ya lovely cunts?”

“Always a pleasure, Junkrat.” Mercy’s voice is tired but there’s a smile to it.

“Alright, Mercy’s here! We’ll have an easy time.”

“Woohoo!”

“Aww, you flatter me.”

“Hey.”

Mako’s customary greeting comes through and Jamie’s face lights up.

“Roadie!”

There’s a subtle chuckle and Jamie can just imagine the “lol.” He seems to be amused by his enthusiasm when it bleeds through so obviously.

Jamie decides to be as loud as he feels today.

The raid they’re doing tonight is a popular weekly one that they’re very familiar with. It’s one of the more difficult ventures with the best drops for high level gear so the call is quite crowded with unfamiliar voices. Mercy and Lucio stand out from their group of friends.

Lucio is an energetic and fun Brazilian kid with a flair for music. He’s always fun to group with. Sadly he’s pretty drowned out in the group like the rest of them are. His healer/mage hybrid is among the first to charge into the dungeon, and Jamie yips along close behind.

They stream through the raid with practiced motions.

“On ya right, mate!”

“Hm. Got it.”

“I’ve got your back, Leeson!”

“Woah that was close.”

“Flankers spawning.”

“Got ‘em!”

“Fire in the hole!”

“Dude calm down.”

“Bin it. Hoggie on your left now!”

The annoyed voice of another tank responds. “We’ve got it handled.”

The continue to chug through dungeon with little difficulty but a lot of coordination. Jamie sips his soda and his leg jumps excitedly. Good moods are rare and he milks it.

He’s so cocky he even dies once, after stepping outside of his protected area. Before he can do more than let out a quick cuss, Mercy is gliding in to revive him.

“Ta!”

“Careful dear,” her voice lilts.

“Yes mum.”

Familiar jokes play out as other guild members joke about her mumhood to them all and she grumbles in embarrassment.

The final boss is a slog as always with its boatloads of hit points, but they break through. Stressed chatter and callouts change to discussion of drops, curses and cheers depending on the individual’s luck.

“How close are ya, Hoggie?”

“Mm. Nothing. Still missing one shard.”

Roadhog has been working up to the best armor in the game for quite some time, a significant tier in stats and especially in crafting expenses above the rest. Jamie has been saving the expensive materials for himself to work on bringing Junkrat into a better rank but-

He sends Roadhog a trade request. He silently accepts and Jamie drops the singular shard he got in.

“You sure?” Mako’s voice rumbles into mic, voice still somehow easily understandable under the rest of the chatter.

“‘Course mate! Go get yourself them hot duds.”

It takes him a moment, but Roadhog finally accepts the trade and the item.

“Thanks.”

God his voice is so hot. Jamie gives a pleased titter at the almost-praise. “Anytime!”

“What’s up?” Lucio chimes in.

“Just gave Roadie his last shard,” Jamie responds with a grin. He sips his drink probably a little too close to the mic.

“Oh lovely!” Mercy sounds exhausted but bright. “I’ve got to head out for my shift now, have a good evening everyone, it was fun!”

Everyone says goodbye to Mercy. Roadhog heads over to a major hub town to finish off the crafting procedure for his armor and Trashfire hops after him and around him as he fudges with menus.

“Think it’ll look good with ya pink thing?”

“Everything looks good with a little pink,” he rumbles back, smile hidden in his largely even voice.

“Awe that might have a little more to do with the wearer than the colour!” he snickers.

“Gay,” mutters some other voice. Jamie ignores it, though a pit of adrenaline does spike in his stomach.

“You’re gonna be awesome,” he sing-songs, voice high. “Oo oo, do you think we can solo fiend pit now? Or, like, duo I guess.”

“Probably. We can work on Junkrat’s launcher upgrades.”

“Yessss!”

A couple others chat though the population of the voice channel is slowly dwindling. Jamie doesn’t feel like clicking out yet. Speaking without the delay of a keyboard is freeing for him.

“Do you want to try it out now or- I guess it’s getting late, you work tomorrow?

“Yea-”

“God get a room.”

“Right?”

“When did fags start getting in on mmos?”

Jamie feels like a bucket of cold water has suddenly been dumped into his veins.

“Excuse me?” Roadhog’s voice comes through like it never has before. It’s got a growl and an upturn of a question that’s far more than he usually has.

“Aww we poked the bear.”

“Cute, protecting the little trash twink.”

Jamie’s eyes snap to the list of names still in the chat. He doesn’t pay attention to the members of Nomads outside of his small circle of friends, but he knows at least one of the ones talking is a secondary leader of the guild. He sounds like he’s still in highschool.

“Guys…” Lucio’s voice is tiny compared to his usual upbeat lilt.

“It’s two thousand fucking seventeen, and you’re using homophobic slurs?”

He’s not sure if he’s ever heard Roadhog swear. He’s certainly _never_ heard Mako swear.

“Look we found out how to get him to talk.”

“We already knew that, just put him around his boyfriend!”

“Does it really matter? Who _cares?_ ” His best friend is angry for the first time.

The others in the chat are just laughing. “Just take your sexting to another chat, faggots.”

There’s a very pregnant silence from Mako before Roadhog’s name disappears from the chat. He watches in the game window as **< Nomads>** disappears from above Roadhog’s name and his character blips out of existence, offline.

Jamie isn’t sure what to do for a moment until he snaps back to reality amid teenagers chuckling and exits the call as well. He’s shaking as he searches through menus to find the ‘leave guild’ option as well. Once he finds it - _yes_ , game, he is sure he wants to leave - he zones out in something akin to horror.

Finally, a ping snaps him out of his reverie. He scrambles to click for Discord and it’s… not Mako.

 **Lucio** :  
Oh my god man I’m so sorry. I should have said something.. I’m so bad with conflict t hough I didn’t know what to say…  
That was fucked up.  
Is Mako…?

 **Junkrat** :  
i dont know mate he just logged off/  
he left the guild  
i did too

 **Lucio** :  
I’m right behind you man  
It’s real late here so i gotta head off to class but yeah... i’m sorry

 **Junkrat** :  
aint your fault mate  
ta

 **Lucio** :  
:(

He logs off. Jamie sighs a shaky sigh. His fear switches to anger, and then frustration in seconds.

He should have said something. He should have cussed them out. His fingertips are already itching with a thousand things he wants to call them and their mothers. He said nothing while Roadhog defended them- him- whatever.

He curses under his breath; Mako must think he’s weak as hell now. And he is. He just… froze up.

Roadhog’s name is grey, but Jamie knows Mako’s phone has the chat program on it. He has to say _something_.

What though?

 **Junkrat** :  
Roadie????

Whatever the fuck came to mind, as usual he supposed.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey  
Sorry im kinda freaking out  
Are you okay?  
  
**Junkrat** :  
Man youre probably asleep but if you could answer thatd be really cool

 **Junkrat** :  
I saw you left. I did too.  
That fucking sucked  
Im sorry i didnt say anything and lucio said sorry too  
i think we were both in shock im sorry ive never - ugh i mean i HAVE had to deal with people being assholes in person but i wasn’t expecting it here i guess???

He wishes so bad there was a way to tell if people were reading your messages on here. His sore fingers flex and he keeps digging his hole deeper.

 **Junkrat** :  
but i hope the parts you were mad about werent like  
uh the parts with  
them talking about me  
and you  
like

Here he fucking goes.

 **Junkrat** :  
i do  
actually have a bit of a crush on you  
and that’s probably really weird and shit and oh god if you toell me to ill never bring it up a gain i dont want things to be weird with us your like my best fucking friend  
only friend, for awhile  
and youre like in another country and im some poor idiot kid like

Wait- he bangs his head on the table so hard his empty soda can falls over.

 **Junkrat:**  
I just made the biggest ass of myself in the who FUCKIN world for dropping that on you right after having to deal with thiose shitheads im sorry  
Fuck fuck im a moron, im so sorry

Now he’s gone and done it. He’s shaking in his chair that does little to comfort his bony self curled up on the seat trying to be as small as possible. He stares at the computer and his eyes sting.

Minutes pass, and then more. He should go to be-

His speakers suddenly blare with a wholly unfamiliar incoming call sound. He scrambles to hit accept and it takes him like five tries to actually click the damn button.

“Roadie?”

His voice is reedy and high-pitched and he winces immediately at how desperate he sounds.

For several seconds, the only answer is breathing. The quality sounds different, he must be on his phone-

“I like you too.”

“... Oh.”

He chokes out the syllable in some odd sort of squeaking noise he didn’t even know he was capable of making.

More slow, heavy breathing. He closes his eyes and imagines the person that noise is coming from and the large hands that must dwarf his phone.

“Good night, Jamie.”

“‘N-night… Mako.”

Mako makes a sound that Jamie can’t quite decipher and the call is ended. He sits in his room alone and stares at the computer.

Okay then.

He launches himself off the chair, gangly limbs flailing, and screams into a pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Junkrat** :  
so last night  
uhh  
when you said like  
did you mean like  
like like?

 **Roadhog** :  
i hate that i understood that.

 **Junkrat** :  
I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE  
IM SORRY asgfd

 **Roadhog** :  
lol

 **Roadhog** :  
yes. i was saying that thing you just typed.

 **Junkrat** :  
!!!!!!!  
………..  
Say it.

 **Roadhog** :  
i literally did that last night.

 **Junkrat** :  
I want to hear it!  
>:0

 **Roadhog** :  
i literally called you to say it.  
out loud.  
also stop stealing angela’s emoticons.

 **Junkrat** :  
>>>>>>:000000000000  
0000000  
000

 **Roadhog** :  
oh my god.  
Jamie.

 **Junkrat** :  
… sorry im legit being annoying here aren’t i

 **Roadhog** :  
i like you.  
as in ‘like like.’  
you absolute dork.  
happy?

 **Roadhog** :  
…

 **Junkrat** :  
!!!1!!!fsdjasdfcnv

 **Roadhog** :  
sigh.

 **Junkrat** :  
<333!

 **Roadhog** :  
siiiigh.  
<3

 

\---

 

Jamie and Mako are kind of sort of together now.

They haven’t put a name to it quite yet, names are hard and this feels sudden despite the nearly two years they’ve known each other now. Suddenly things don’t feel so hopeless or stagnant. Suddenly Jamie is happy with where he is. He smiles like a fucking idiot off into the distance so hard that anyone watching the security cameras at work would think he’s high.

This is silly, he tells himself. This is so dumb.

He can’t stop smiling though.

“What’s with you lately?”

Jamie snaps up to see foster mum’s boyfriend- Greg, he thinks, or maybe Craig - looking at him over dinner. Once or twice a week they all eat together so that Jamie feels like less of a squatter and more like family.

Jamie looks up and shrugs, twisting his fork in his bland spaghetti. “Good mood is all.”

“You find a job yet?”

“ _Steve_ -” foster mum hisses. Wow he was WAY off.

“I’ve already got a job.”

“A real one.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Rack off I’m working on it.”

“Language, James…” Mum is looking irritated at the both of them.

He hates it when she calls him that and he sulks; it isn’t worth it to get into an argument and he was going to go upstairs after dinner to play.

“All I’m sayin’ is maybe you should be taking a little bit more initiative. Yer what, twenty now and yer still living in mum’s house?”

Damnit. “For the millionth fuckin’ time, I’m workin’ on it. Just cuz yer shaggin’ me mum doesn’t mean you get to treat me like your kid, or any kid.”

“ _Jamison!_ ”

“Well tell him to back off! You know I’m tryin’.” Jamie scowls heavily into the plate. They’ve had many a talk about why he’s had difficulty getting a better job, and all things considered she’s been understanding.

“More like you’re pissin your best years away by playin’ video games.”

“Steve, this isn’t necessary.”

“I’m just trying to help! He obviously needs some sorta father fig-”

Jamie doesn’t hear the rest as he’s already up the stairs and slamming the door to his room. His eyes immediately fall on his tools and his paints and he’d rather feel the night air than be stuck in this shitheap. He twitches to do something, anything, but his computer dings, and he looks over to that instead.

It’s just the group chat. They’re talking about the dungeon they’re all going to do shortly. He runs a hand through his hair and clicks on his direct messages.

 **Junkrat** :  
hey roadie, you there?

A moment passes and his leg starts to jump. He’s not quite full thanks to the amount of spaghetti he left uneaten on the plate downstairs and he groans.

Christ he really wants to go out and break something.

 **Junkrat** :  
could really use someone to bitch to  
im feeling kind of shit

Time tip toes forward and he whines lightly, head tilted into the back of his chair. He can hear discussion from downstairs muffled by the floorboards.

 **Junkrat** :  
guess not.  
fuck.

He looks between the still-active group chat, the game icon, and his second-storey window. Mako isn’t around, but he would be saying nice things. Things that would calm him down. And make him not act like an idiot.

It’s enough that when he grabs his beaten jacket, he doesn’t grab any tools or paints to take with him. He hops out of the window, shuffles down a shingled landing and lands heavily on the dusty ground below, shoving his hands into his pockets and stomping down the non-existent sidewalk in the dark.

He hates this town. He hates the corner store he passes with its faded signage and posters hanging up in windows for candy bar promotions that ended two years ago. He hates the barely-scrubbed spray paint on the stop sign and the intersection whose only lines are the ones in the cracked concrete. He hates the hills around the junkyard that he scrambled up and down a hundred times for a hundred scabs when he was younger. He hates that he could walk from one end of this town to the other in about half an hour.

Most of all, he hates himself.

His hands flex in his pockets but he keeps them there.

It’s his fault he’s still here and not somewhere better. His fault for being a fucking twit. Years ago he had broken more than one window in the warehouse across the street, and the owners hadn’t cared to do more than board them up.

He thinks about thinking about numbers again, and the possibility of wasting all his savings to get into a city without a job ahead of time. It’s what the old Jamie would have done, definitely, but Mako’s even, lowercase logic rumbles into his head about staying smart and safe because of economic factors he doesn’t understand or remember.

Mako. If Mako likes him, he can’t be _that_ bad, right?

He barks out a laugh into the stale night air. _Goddamn that is a sad thought to have. What are you even doing?_ He shakes his head.

It’s a sad thought but it still makes him feel better. The gravel crunches under his sneakers as he makes tracks back home.

 

\---

 

 **Roadhog** :  
hey.  
sorry, some of the more tolerable guys from work invited me out for a beer  
didn’t think i’d be that long.

 **Roadhog** :  
you okay?

 **Roadhog** :  
let me know when you’re back.

Jamie sits down and he’s drained. He missed the dungeon run. The slight about his gaming habits worries at the back of his mind and he shoves it away.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey hoggie  
Sorry for dipping i just needed some air

 **Roadhog** :  
what’s wrong?

What a softy. Jamie snorts.

 **Junkrat** :  
mum’s bf was bein a slag about how im wasting my life not moving out and playing video games and i got worked up  
stupid.

 **Roadhog** :  
want me to break his legs.

Jamie lets out a hyena’s cackle before slapping his hand over his mouth.

 **Junkrat** :  
hooley dooley hog  
You sure know a way to a man’s heart

 **Roadhog** :  
i try.

 **Junkrat** :  
:)

 **Roadhog** :  
<3

He hangs his head. He feels a bit like a dumbass for making such a big deal of things already.

 **Junkrat** :  
What would I do without you, hoggiewoggie.

 **Roadhog** :  
die, probably.  
you’d still figure things out. it’d just take longer.  
also, don’t call me that.  
no, stop typing, i know what you’re typing.  
you’ve become absolutely insufferable since we started this, you know that.

 **Junkrat** :  
You love it!

 **Roadhog** :  
…

He loves not being afraid of Roadhog, or Mako. Or whatever. He loves being able to push buttons without fear and receive begrudging affection steeped in a thin veil of disdain in return. It feels right. If he can poke fun at this beautiful massively attractive man, he can do anything.

They chat into the night and his wreck of a room is lit by soft light from the monitor. He apologizes lightly to the group for missing the dungeon but he’s proud of himself and his unstained hands.

 

\---

 

There are many job openings for mechanics but they all require a shocking amount of prerequisites. Trade school this, five years experience that; a whole lot of shit he doesn’t have as a self-taught savant who’s only recently earned his mother’s trust enough to tamper with her car. He applies anyway, but not once has he gotten more than a form letter thanking him for his application. When he sees a listing online for a mechanic that, after the job description of standard mechanic duties, just read “if you’re good at your job, send resume,” he detects just enough oddness that he thinks he might have a chance.

First, he googles the place. It is actually a reputable but small shop with a long history and not a franchise chain. There are a couple of five-star reviews praising the skill of the owner, and even more one star reviews complaining about the hospitality or lack thereof.

Fuck it: he makes a plan.

It takes the better part of a day, but with some help with tech-savvy Tracer, he puts together what he wants to show off, and turns to type his cover letter.

 

 

 

> From: **Jamie F** <jamieson.f@gmail.com>  
>  To: info@ironclad.com.au
> 
> Mr. Lindholm
> 
> My name is Jamieson and I build things. I can fix things too. I’ve been putting together and taking apart every type of machine I can get my hands on since I was an anklebiter and I’ve figured out them all. No one in this miserable place gives me the time of day though so I’m wasting the only goddamn talent I have.
> 
> I live in the middle of satan’s asscrack so I can’t hand you this in person but I’m looking to move to somewhere that smells less like balls at the earliest opportunity.
> 
> Give me a chance and I’ll blow your fucking mind mate.
> 
> See attached.
> 
> Jamieson F.
> 
> Attachment:  
>  **JF Resume.pdf**

 

The “resume” started with the usual items, his name, contact, a lot of his skills and the previously all-important listing of his ACT. Then roughly ten pages follow of a miserably designed collage of his work. He takes photos of the motors he’s built, his favourite fan, the array of tools both purchased and handmade he organized just for the photo op, a shot of the scrapyard, a picture of the Corolla’s innards displaced and then put back in place.

This is stupid and unprofessional but he hits send with a snarl terribly unbefitting of the simple action. After an uneventful moment, he sits back in his chair. He is exhausted and he has to work tonight. Fuck.

Time to wait.

He thanks Tracer again before getting up and grabbing his coat, jamming his mini bottle of painkillers in his pocket for the night. It’s a ten minute walk to the station and he relieves the afternoon attendant with barely a word.

The pop music in the store area is turned down; he can’t put his own music on unfortunately but he’d rather not listen to the shit they have on all night.

He organizes the overpriced snacks in the grimey store until the shelves look like they’re out of a commercial. He sweeps slowly while it destroys his lower back. He fills gas for an old lady out way too late who doesn’t want to get out of her car. Most people just pay with their credit cards at the pump so even when customers do come by, he rarely interacts with them. The shelves are all stocked in record time and he even polishes the windows a bit.

A late night trucker interrupts his sketching sometime around five in the morning and Jamie stares as thick hands count through bills before handing to them. He maybe stares a little more than necessary, barely paying attention as he rings the bill through. This guy was pretty big. Mako was way bigger though. God, Mako’s hands would just fucking _cover_ him-

“Got a problem?”

“N-nah, sorry mate. Long night, I’m sure you know!”

The guy grunts and leaves, taking the smell of stale cigarette smoke with him.

Jamie sighs.

 

\---

 

If they had been inseparable before, they are insufferable now.

 **[Roadhog] (team): hooley dooley!!  
**  
**[Roadhog] (team): so much hp  
**  
**[Roadhog] (team): Game must be easy when ya cant die  
**  
**[Junkrat] (team): where are the bombs.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): this gun is crap.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): Ya gotta go into the toolkit menu**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): where’s that.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): haaaah you cant kill meeeeee  
**  
**[Junkrat] (team): you’re absolutely going to die.  
**  
**[Junkrat] (team): you have to actually proc  
**  
**[Roadhog] has been killed by [Woodwyrm]  
**  
**[Junkrat] (team): nevermind.  
  
****[Roadhog] (team): shite mate sorry**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): its alright ive got your stuff.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): well. my stuff.**

They’re getting bored and decide to exchange account passwords after a couple beers, both pilfered and purchased. After hitting accept on several layers of authentication saying that they were, indeed themselves just logging in from different postal codes.

 **[Mercy] (guild): Good evening everyone.  
**  
**[RocketQueen] (guild): In your part of the world!  
**  
**[Mercy] (guild): fine then, bad evening. :p**

Jamie cackles and immediately scrambles to his keyboard, ready to say something stupid and embarrassing coming out of Roadhog’s handle, but then backs down just as suddenly. It would probably be funnier if…

 **[Roadhog] (guild): hey.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): …**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): ;)**  
**  
[Mercy] (guild): Evening Roadhog! And rat, I see you there. What’re you up to on this wretched eve?**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): not much.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): reading up on the last hundred years of the game’s lore history.**  
**  
[Mercy] (guild): Oh, uhm, fun?**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): better than actually playing.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): Hey merc, im busy trying to get him to do something more exciting! reading is for losers!!**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): let’s solo the fae raid!!!**  
**  
[Mercy] (guild): I… don’t know if you’d be successful at that.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): That’s what makes it exciting obviously**

Jamie both giggles and rolls his eyes, switching back to team chat.

 **[Roadhog] (team): that’s not even funny, I’m funnier than that**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): i often run into closed doors irl for fun to see if the laws of physics will change and allow me passage**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): Fun!**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): omfg**  
**  
[RocketQueen] (guild): you are a strange individual.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): that’s why everyone likes me.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): mate.**

He snickers again.

**[Roadhog] (guild): that is absolutely why i like you.**

He finishes his drink with a shit-eating grin.

 **[Junkrat] (team): …**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): just staying in character <3**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): idiot.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): and just so you know, angela already whispered me.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): “mako?”**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): lmao**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): shit i guess i was a bit off**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): i like pink things**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): question marks are for the weak**  
**  
[Junkrat] (guild): i like being a yappy dumbass with no fashion sense.**

Jamie types in “also im really hot but i pretend that im not because the rest of the world would fall before me.” but backspaces it because Mako might not appreciate that one; whatever “they” are, they aren’t exactly public.

 **[GlassesGuy] (guild): what is happening right now?**  
**  
[Mercy] (guild): Just goofs being goofs. :p**

They had joined a new guild, eventually. It was only because Mercy personally knew the leader from something or other in real life and she was a secondary leader in it. Overwatch is too small to do major raids, but they can at least do some of them and the atmosphere is decidedly much more chill.

**[Roadhog] (team): okay but i made rat better c’mon that’s not fair m8**

Junkrat is almost colour coordinated now, covered largely in subtle camo greens and yellows with the odd bright orange flair in his gear.

 **[Junkrat] (team): i’m making him better now.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): wait**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): easy enough to change back.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): I ACTUALLY UT EFFORT INTO THAT COLOURSCHEME**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): looks way better now though.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): HOGGGGG**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): i’d keep it if i were you.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): oh cool you have the new year’s voucher for a pet.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): that was months ago.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): ROADIE**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): guess i’ll just use that if you weren’t going to.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): IM GOING TOSELL YOUR ARMOR TO AN NPC**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): ROADHOG’S BULLYING ME**  
**  
[Roadhog] (guild): BAN FROM GUILD PLZ**  
**  
[GlassesGuy] (guild): Pardon?**  
**  
[RocketQueen] (guild): What?**  
**  
[Mercy] (guild): The boys are just playing, ignore them pfft.**

Jamie, feeling awkward trudging around as Roadhog’s character, finally reaches the area they had been hanging out in before he foolishly died due to having little to no idea how to run a paladin. Junkrat is now sporting a rather striking look with black and ashen clothing accented by violently pink weapons and magenta metallic highlights. A diminutive pig pet is waddling alongside the character.

Jamie laughs so hard that he hears foster mum complain from downstairs. They mess around a bit more that night and declare they have to try running a dungeon like this sometime. Mako needs to head to bed however, so the occasion is saved for another time.

 **[Roadhog] (team): g’night big guy <2**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): M3**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): fuck**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): lol.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): you know what i mean**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): night, little guy.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): hey! I’m only a couple shy of 2m!**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): ...really.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): yes really! >:O**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): hunh.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): my posture is kinda bad. Bad back.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): ..thats not like.. A turn off.. Or anything right? Uhh**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): of course not.**  
**  
[Junkrat] (team): just hard to tell from photos and i assumed.**

Mako so rarely said anything about the photos they occasionally shared. Jamie gnawed on his lip.

_am i still cute? ;)_

_do you like them?_

_i know im not as impressive as yooou, but..._

Type, backspace. Type, backspace.

**[Roadhog] (team): I’ll send you a pic of me standing up straight one time lol.**

He finally goes with that.

**[Junkrat] (team): i’d like that.**

He colours. Shit. He’s so easy to rile up and he feels ashamed by it. It feels good though.

 **[Junkrat] (team): do need to sleep though, night.**  
**  
[Roadhog] (team): Night!!**

Jamie spends a couple minutes afterwards logging back onto his own character and painstakingly fixing his armor dyes. He keeps the pet pig though.

 

\---

 

 

 

> From: **Torbjörn Lindholm**  <info@ironclad.com.au>  
>  To: jamieson.f@gmail.com
> 
> interview this saturday at 11am. 86 artemesia st.
> 
> T. Lindholm

 

Jamie wakes up to a headache and an email. The headache is not helped by the immediate screeching he does at foster mum about how she has to take him to the interview he’ll-pay-for gas-and-everything. He stomps loudly back up the stairs to his computer to tap away on the keys.

 **Junkrat** :  
HOG  
OHGHOGHOGHOGHOGHOGHOGHOGHOGHO  
I GOT AN INTERVIEW WITH A MECHANIC PLACE  
IN AN ACTUAL CITY  
IM GONNA NAIL IT  
BECAHSE IM AWESOME  
FFFUUUUCK YEAH

He nearly tumbles out of his chair to start organizing his things. Should he bring a creation or two? He doesn’t know how this stuff works. He should probably research interviews for trade positions. When his speakers ping it is a couple hours later - Mako’s lunch break - and he jumps back in front of the screen.

 **Roadhog** :  
oh nice, congrats.

 **Junkrat** :  
come ON  
HOGGYyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy……  
yyyyyyyyyy  
yy

 **Roadhog** :  
!!!

 **Junkrat** :  
Thank you. Gosh was that so hard.

 **Roadhog** :  
my “one” key is broken. it’s a whole thing.

 **Junkrat** :  
You’re on your phone u fuck

 **Roadhog** :  
screen crack.  
tragic.  
i really need to get this thing replaced.

 **Roadhog** :  
seriously though, that’s amazing.  
you will definitely get it.

 **Junkrat** :  
i most certainly fucking will.

 

\---

 

 **Junkrat** :  
im going to fuck this up

Jamie’s in his nicest clothing and he’s curled into a ball in front of his computer, stressed and jittery. He keeps tugging at his hair before immediately smoothing it down again, trying to keep the order he fought it into this morning. His fingers tap anxiously on the keyboard just to hear the sound even when he’s not typing.

 **Roadhog** :  
no you’re not.

 **Junkrat** :  
shit mum’s almost home it’s almost time

 **Roadhog** :  
you’re going to do fine.

 **Junkrat** :  
im an idiot asdch nv

 **Roadhog** :  
shut up and stop fishing for compliments you brilliant moron.

 **Junkrat** :  
csndkigvn<3

 **Roadhog** :  
<3  
go kick some ass.

 **Junkrat** :  
ya makin me blush

 **Roadhog** :  
that’s the idea.

Mum calls him from downstairs and he jumps. It’s kind of terrifying to leave his keyboard but he types one last _thanksbye <3_ before dashing off downstairs and into the car. Foster mum is smiling and he’s all nerves and jitters. She knocks the coffee pot out of his hand when she sees him reach for it. “You look wired enough already. And you’re just going to sit in the car for an hour and a half.”

“Yeah yea-”

“You look red; are you coming down with something?”

“‘M fine!” he nearly squeaks and makes his way to the car, throwing his bag into the back seat and folding his lanky limbs into the vehicle.

 

\---

 

Mr. Lindholm only comes up to about his waist, which is confusing at first, but the calluses on his hands and gruff in his voice when he says “fix it” are not to be taken lightly.

Jamie only just arrived and shook hands with the man before being pointed towards a rusting car. It is, tragically, not a Corolla like he’s used to fixing for mum, but it looks to be around a similar age.

He was expecting a meandering conversation about his background and skills like all the online articles told him to prepare for. The sight of walls and cabinets full of tools ready for the using lifts an insurmountable weight off his shoulders.

“You got it, mate.”

The hair he tried to tame is quickly mussed and the one dress shirt he owns is covered in grease as he works on the machines. He forgets about mum waiting in the car outside and the singular eye of Mr. Lindholm. He thinks about the flow of the machines and the interlocking of pieces and the familiar and unfamiliar in what he’s researched and worked on before. It’s a language written in metal pistons and rubber hoses and sounds like an ache in his back and grime under his already low-bitten nails.

“Keys?”

He asks after some time under and over and around the machine. Mr. Lindholm has been leaning against a tool cabinet watching in silence. He finally moves when the silence is broken, tossing over an aging keyfob. Jamie’s form hunches into the unfamiliar car seat and he turns the key.

It starts up.

“What’s next?” Jamie grins like a cat. Mr. Lindholm tilts his head.

“Not bad.” He’s got an odd accent. “You gonna show up on time?”

“‘Course.”

“You look like a street punk.”

“Basically am, sir. I can fix a car though. I can fix anything if you give me a little time. S’all I got, mate.”

“Eighteen an hour for starters, thirty two hours a week. You fuck up once and you’re out. Can you start Monday?”

Jamie’s brain shorted. “Uhhh, yes, sir! I mean, I gotta move here first and quit me other job, don’t know if I can do _this_ Monday but the rest sounds bonzer!”

The older man snorts at his vocabulary. “The following Monday then? Twenty ninth?”

He has no idea if he can do that. “Yeah, that works!”

They shake hands again. Jamie walks out the door. As it shuts behind him, he whoops and jumps in the air, punching upwards. Halfway through the motion he hears it open again. The short man watches him.

“Sh- sorry.”

Mr. Lindholm snorts and walks to his own car. Jamie kicks himself before hurrying to foster mum’s car to tell her the good news.

 

\---

 

Things move terrifyingly fast.

It’s such whiplash from the slow pondering wait-and-save route he’s been on that it makes his head spin. He quits his job and his old boss does not look happy about the sudden notice, but he is civil. Instead of playing games, Jamie is furiously scrolling through websites of apartment listings and then running downstairs to use the landline to call after leads. He barely sleeps the first two nights. He doesn’t at all the third after he hooks a small studio place he can afford with thirty-two hours a week. He didn’t think he owned much but the scrap and creations he covets take up an awful lot of room. He pilfers cardboard boxes from the local grocery store and struggles to drag them home in the wind. He isn’t able to see the place ahead of time because there’s no way he’s getting a free ride that long more than once. He prays the place is as functional it looks in the photos. He wants to vomit all of his worries about the future into discord but he holds back and jitters out of his skin. He doesn’t want to look like a kid in front of Mako who’s already gone through this.

Tomorrow is moving day. It came so fast. What happened. He’s so damn confused.

 **Roadhog** :  
are you okay?

 **Junkrat** :  
oo, question mark. Must be srs

 **Roadhog** :  
Jamie.

Mako used his real name. Shit. he should settle down.

 **Junkrat** :  
dunno mate  
always wanted this  
its a lot tho  
at once

 **Junkrat** :  
well? Gonna do the thing where ur my all-knowing mentor?

 **Roadhog** :  
not much i can say. it is a lot. sorry.

 **Junkrat** :  
why’d ya ask then

 **Roadhog** :  
i don’t know.  
just trying to do the right thing i guess.  
this is new for me too.

He winces, what’s new for him though? Does he mean… them?

 **Junkrat** :  
Fuck sorry.

im just really tire- he stops typing as his door opens. His head whips around. Foster mum is there. “Aren’t you gonna put that away?”

“Wha- oh.” She means the computer. “Yeah, I’m gonna.”

She hovers at his door and he hunches his shoulders. “What do ya want?”

“Just wanted to tell you I was proud. You’ve come a long way, Jamison.”

He shrinks on himself even more. “Sure.”

“Get some sleep, kiddo. We’re heading out early tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

She laughs a little to herself, walks over and tousles his hair. He snarls lightly and she laughs louder.

“Night.”

Jamie huffs a little sigh at his now-closed door. After a moment, he turns back.

 **Junkrat** :  
im just real tired and i should probably pack up the computer  
ugh  
i dont wanna

 **Roadhog** :  
have you been sleeping.

 **Junkrat** :  
too much stuff to think about  
im tryin  
hog i wanna sleep and play video games and go back to the station and go work on cars and take bad selfies and pk people for fun

He leans over the keyboard and lets out a very long sigh, closing his dry eyes stinging with exhaustion. There he goes.

He looks back up a moment later.

 **Roadhog** :  
i want to hug you.

He stares at that sentence for a long time, until his eyes grow from dry to wet. He feels a yawning emptiness in this room he’s gutted and in the air around him. He wants to be hugged. He wants to know what that feels like.

 **Junkrat** :  
i’d like that.

He sits for awhile longer before reaching behind the dusty machine and unplugs the keyboard and mouse from their USB ports. He unscrews the pins holding in the monitor’s cable. The speakers and headset are collected and the power cord comes last. He packs them reverently into one final box.

He actually does sleep a bit; he feels somehow calmed, despite this new hollow and unnamed feeling cloying the silence that his pc’s fan noise once occupied.

 

\---

 

He is surrounded by cardboard as he listens to his mother’s car drive away. The sound of the old car soon blends into the sounds of many others nearby. She’d even shed a tear.

He breathes.

Despite just having lived through it, Jamie feels like nothing tangible has happened between now and waiting in bed for morning. The drive had been uneventful and brutally long with the boxes stacked in the back blocking out the rear mirror making her anxious. Dragging all of his belongings into the space maybe twice the size of his old bedroom had been awkward and ponderous. The ache in his knees and back confirm that this is, in fact, happening.

For the first time in days, he can just breathe.

It’s with a numb sort of awe that he takes in the place properly for the first time. The floor is paneled with fake but tasteful looking wood grain. The kitchen is a small offshoot without much counter space but it would be plenty for him. The bathroom and closet are the only separations. The taps all work and it’s pretty recently refurbished, so the photos hadn’t lied to him. His old twin mattress sits plainly in one corner of the room, now without a bedframe. He knows he’s going to drown in the amount of things he’ll need to buy just to function: pots, pans, ketchup and salt. He’ll need a shower curtain and shampoo, his own dresser and a lamp. The place is a small, empty shell with off-white walls that echo with every step he takes.

And it’s all his.

Jamie smiles so hard it hurts.

He tears into his boxes with a box-cutter, aiming for one full of his smaller essentials first. Mostly he’s aiming for his notebook to immediately start taking notes of every little thing he’ll need - _microwave, handsoap, towels_ \- god, he’s going to run through his savings in a rush and he’s glad Hog talked him into being so frugal. A little silver rectangle falls heavily out of the mess and he sees mum’s camera; shit, he’s accidentally pilfered it. He laughs and grabs it: why not.

After he takes a few photos and then continues onward unpacking, going for his computer next, he realizes that he obviously has no internet provider and the people around him aren’t as moronic with their passwords as his old neighbour. With some finagling he is able to connect to the coffee shop’s free wifi from across the street, though it’s shaky and intermittent at best (he will most definitely need his own). It takes a couple tries for the connection to be stable enough to upload, but the first thing he does is send **level up.jpg** to Roadhog.

It’s a shot of him standing at his full height surrounded by blank walls and boxes. It’s a wholly unremarkable image, but how he feels is anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Thyme-Basalt for betaing. 
> 
> If anyone was curious, I'm armatages over on [tumblr](http://armatages.tumblr.com/) and my barely-used twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/Armatage_S). I mostly draw. 
> 
> Have a good one. :>


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya~ Haven't said it in a few so just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who's left kind comments. It's... legitimately blown me away how much positive reception I've gotten. I'm terrible at replying to things but like, holy shit, wow? Thank you thank you and _thank you._
> 
> And as usual, I am forever in debt to Thyme-Basalt for being an excellent beta and dealing with my bullshit.

Life is pretty good right now.

Jamie has been living in the city and working for Ironclad Repairs for almost six months. His apartment is significantly more personalized now, with one corner taken over by his computer setup with another sporting his bed and another a mess of clothing and other life items. He does have the odd spot of jumbled mechanics and tools tucked into corners, but most of his fiddling has been moved to the shop, which has been happy to allow him to use the space occasionally.

Torbjorn is a miserable old wanker but he’s a good boss. When customers are being obnoxious or unfair, he’ll tell them to fuck off. Their regular clientele appreciates this and come for their no-bullshit pricing and high level of skill. Mr. Lindholm isn’t always present as he has other operations he’s expanding into that he must tend to, but his daughter is often there. Bridgette says Torbjorn feels more comfortable leaving now that there’s a mechanic on site who's skill rivals hers. Not that he’d ever admit it, if course. A couple others work at the shop, but Bridgette basically runs it most days and Jamie is heads above the others in talent. He tries to be humble but he’s shit at it.

He still games with the growing Overwatch and chats with a few of its members in Discord. It’s mostly a social hobby now; there’s not much left for him to do. He still gets a rush out of the coordination that comes from weekly raids with the guild, and he enjoys messing around alongside Roadhog.

Roadhog. Mako. While Jamie has less time at home now, he keeps in contact even easier with his new phone. It’s a piece of crap and he kind of hates typing on a touchscreen but it’s absolutely essential to own one so work can get in contact with him. He sends obnoxious amounts of selfies with its poor resolution camera and its wallpaper is a photo of Mako. It’s the first one he sent, because it was still probably the one Mako’s sent that shows the most of him. That, and Jamie is a nostalgic motherfucker.

Things have been going well with them. Snarky messages exchanged with the man remain the highlights of his day. They talk about work and make light plans. Sometimes they watch movies together online. Mako’s taste is ridiculously more refined and he introduces him to classics in multiple genres. Jamie’s never had a huge thing for movies; spectacle and explosions and fake science are only entertaining for about ten seconds before he gets bored for lack of anything tangible or meaningful. Mako puts on both modern and aged films that finally catch Jamie’s attention. He likes Cronenberg’s horrifyingly alien but tactile creations, and Tarantino’s ridiculousness and wit. _Fight Club_ has him thinking for days after, and _2001, A Space Odyssey_ tames his usual physical watching jitters with painfully pregnant long takes in a way he didn’t know was possible.

 _Mad Max: Fury Road_ is still the best though. No matter how high brow their other picks end up being, he’ll never forget the rush of what Mako called “action done right.”

When Mako awkwardly posits _Spirited Away_ as his next suggestion, Jamie laughs at the cutesy animated cover and wants to touch him so badly it hurts.

He supposes it’s only natural that he wants more, but it still makes him feel guilty. He only makes enough money to get by comfortably and maybe afford take away once or twice a week. Mako is doing better but he’s saving to go back to University. Neither of them have broached the topic of a plane ticket yet, but Jamie’s googled it a few too many times.

The movie is surprisingly charming, even to him. They say their good nights and Jamie aimlessly exists in his small apartment for a few hours. He showers and wonders if Mako’s ever touched himself to thoughts of him. The idea alone has him trying it himself. It’s exciting for a moment but ultimately not very satisfying. He puts his forehead to the steam-covered tiles and sighs.

He flops into bed with his damp hair and knows he’ll be tired at work tomorrow; he should have gone to sleep earlier. At least he has something to look forward to next week.

He smiles at the package sitting on his desk in the dark.

 

\---

 

 **Roadhog** :  
i didn’t think telling you to wait five whole days would make you freak the fuck out about this.

 **Junkrat** :  
You know i HATE waiting!!  
Ya think you can jsut send me my first real prezzie and not expect me to be ready to go?  
Shame!

 **Roadhog** :  
yeah but i thought it’d be nice if you actually opened it on your birthday  
but this is creating too much expectation for something amazing.  
it’s not really anything.

 **Junkrat** :  
Of course it is!!!  
Everything you do is amazing!

 **Roadhog** :  
shut up.

Jamie speaks with him on voice chat regularly enough to know when Mako’s flustered, and he totally is now.

 **Roadhog** :  
seriously it’s nothing.

 **Junkrat** :  
iunno i’m shaking this package and hearing a lotta -stuff-...  
sounds like amazing

 **Roadhog** :  
you’re an asshole.  
don't you have work to do.

 **Junkrat** :  
im on my lunch break  
With your package  
Right here getting all covered in grease  
And totally not at home

 **Roadhog** :  
eat something.

Jamie rolls his eyes. Mako knows he rarely bothers to eat at lunch. He too often forgets to bring his cheap grocery-store microwave meals. When he does, he has a habit of just not bothering to eat them.

 **Junkrat** :  
Do the mum thing more, its a real turnon.

He types with one hand as he meanders over to the small fridge in the break room and grabs his meal. He throws it in the yellow and orange stained microwave and selects the time with slender fingers punctuated by clipped black nail polish. He picked some up on a whim from the dollar store to show off the mimicked look to Mako, but the stuff is terrible and the gloss looks wrong on him.

 **Roadhog** :  
someone’s gotta keep your dumbass alive.

He responds with a picture of the lit up microwave with the caption yum.

 **Roadhog** :  
good boy.

Jamie titters stupidly. He knows it’s a joke but it still makes him flush.

Naturally Torbjorn walks in in the middle of him holding his phone up to take a stupid fake doe-eyed selfie in response. The old man gives him a stoic, withering glare.

“Wot?”Jamie gives as good as he gets, face defiant.

Torbjorn gives a disgusted sigh and grabs something out of the fridge before leaving.

By the time he looks back to his phone, Roadhog is offline and he pouts, reading the messages.

 **Roadhog** :  
should have gotten some nicer food for your birthday though.  
my lunch is over, see you after work.

Jamie snorts fondly at the thought. His birthday has never been a special occasion. Sure, foster mum usually bought a frozen cake from the store and they had a nicer meal, but it wasn’t anything important. Mako had randomly asked when Jamie’s birthday was, because he’d never heard Jamie mention it. When Jamie told Mako it was only a few weeks out, the older man grumbled something in passing about sending a package and Jamie was only too happy to provide his new address.

Today he’d woken today to a flurry of mentions in the Overwatch group chat, wishing him a happy birthday and he was still riding high from that alone. No one had ever cared about that before and Mako must have gone out of his way to tell them. It was pretty neat.

He shovels the rest of his cheap meal into his mouth in a hurry while he scrolls through chat he missed. The quiet doesn’t last long however, and a coworker is asking him if he can lend a hand with a particularly tough adjustment on an antique motorcycle that came in.

Luckily for him, Jamie has been reading up on his motorcycles.

 

\---

 

Mako doesn’t show up online.

Jamie sits cross legged in his computer chair, his knees over the handrests. The package is sitting on his desk between his keyboard and his monitor just begging to be opened with his nearby boxcutter. He told Mako he’d wait until after work on his birthday so both of them would be around.

Here he was, on his (apparently important) birthday, and Mako wasn’t home on time. In fact it’s been like an hour.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hog  
Hooog

 **Junkrat** :  
Hoggie  
Hoggiewoggie  
Hoggie-a-me-heart  
Hoggleston  
Hoggsworth  
Roadie Hoggston Jr. the Third

 **Junkrat** :  
Alright then force me to bring out the big guns.  
Makooo~~  
Makoooooooooooo

 **Junkrat** :  
Makooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 **Junkrat** :  
oooo?

 **Junkrat** :  
:(

Another hour passes. Jamie is practically vibrating. Eventually he unfolds himself to hobble into the kitchen looking for food to stop his stomach from rumbling. He comes back with a dry granola bar, too grumpy to want to make real food. Nothing sounds appetizing anyway.

He has half a mind to open the package anyway; he didn’t exactly _promise_ to wait for Mako to get home. He feels too guilty to touch it though, so he nudges it aside and clicks around on his computer instead, forcing himself to look away from the activity icon.

He clicks on Netflix’s latest movie and tries to focus on something else. Unfortunately, it sucks and plot holes actively kick him out of any immersion he was settling into. This is why he doesn’t pick movies on movie nights. He groans.

Halfway through the movie he whips out the SMS function on his phone; they’d exchanged cell numbers for emergencies.

 **Jamison F**  
Heyy, sorry to get all srs but, is everything okay? It’s been awhile :s

He flips through his sparse pages of apps on the phone. Then he flips back, watching the little icons dash one way and then the other. He eventually flings the phone back on the desk and goes back to watching the horrible movie. Five minutes later he snatches the phone to triple check the sound is on. It is.

The movie ends. Three hours have passed. He’s going to go nuts.

“Calm down, you prick. Shit happens. It’s fine.”

He puts on a documentary about the sprawl of capitalism and it almost succeeds in distracting him as it whips him into an irritated fervor about politics and the economy. He even manages to drum up some interested in googling a couple of the documentary’s subjects to do a bit of extra research.

He’s so nauseous.

It’s with much deliberation that he clicks away from Roadhog’s name and onto Mercy’s. His fingers waver over the keyboard for several minutes as he fights with himself over how dumb this is.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey sheia  
soooo i’m sure this sounds real pathetic and all but i havn’t heard from mako in a few hours and he was supposed to be home just a bit after work?  
like uhh, we had a thing planned  
You hear anythin?

A minute passes. Two. Ten.

“Fucking piss cunting shit arse,” he growls to himself, tugging at his hair.

 **Mercy** :  
I’ll be with you in a minute.

He nearly flings himself out of his chair at the notification sound. It’s just Mercy; his heart falls. But it’s something?

 **Junkrat** :  
well ain’t that the most ominous thing i ever heard get said

Minutes, minutes, tick tock tick. Pixelated numbers move by.

 **Mercy** :  
Alright. Sorry, I am at work during the busiest shift and I had to deal with… the issue first.

 **Junkrat** :  
??  
Sorry uhh i’m probably being a spaz but… ?

 **Mercy** :  
I… really do not feel comfortable being the one to tell you this, but I guess I have to. Mako just called me to bail him out of police custody.

 **Junkrat** :  
What??????

Everything stops and it feels like ice water has suddenly been dumped into his veins.

 **Junkrat** :  
He’s in jail???  
fwaht happened?

 **Mercy** :  
Apparently he initiated an altercation. There was no serious harm done and he is fine. It’s unlikely he’ll have to do anything but pay a fine. I can’t go in until tomorrow morning so he’ll be there overnight.  
I’m sorry, I have to get back to work.

She logs off and he stares.

What the fuck.

 

\---

 

He doesn’t really sleep. The package sitting on his desk seems to watch him as he lies on his back, drumming his fingers across his lightly toned chest. He picks the remains of the nail polish off for lack of anything better to do. It takes a year for morning to come. As 7:00 AM strikes, he lets himself tap on Mercy’s icon.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey sorry to bug, how’s it goin tho?

It takes about fifteen minutes for a response.

 **Mercy** :  
I’m headed there now. I’ll make sure he messages you when he’s out.

 **Junkrat** :  
thanks.

She doesn’t seem too pleased. He shrinks. He waits.

And waits.

It takes three hours before his phone vibrates. He dreads picking it up. Seeing Roadhog’s name is both a terror and a relief and he shuffles over to his computer to read and type properly.

 **Roadhog** :  
hey.

Jamie lets out a strangled screech through gritted teeth.

 **Junkrat** :  
“hey”  
????  
dude  
thats not

He takes his hands away from the keyboard and he realizes he’s crying. He takes a shuddery breath.

 **Roadhog** :  
i'm sorry.

He’s too busy freaking out to respond. A couple minutes pass.

 **Roadhog** :  
i fucked up. and on your birthday.  
like a shitty cliche

 **Roadhog** :  
im sorry.

 **Junkrat** :  
mate i dont care that it was my birthday you cared about that  
what the fuck happened???  
Are you okay?

_**Roadhog** is typing..._

The message lasts awhile and he rests his chin on his table, chair slid back. He squints at the screen.

 **Roadhog** :  
i punched a coworker.

No more typing message.

 **Junkrat** :  
Uh, go on?  
why???

_**Roadhog** is typing..._

“Ughhhhh…” Jamie slumps, wishing Mako would stop obviously having a damn debate with himself with every line he typed.

 **Junkrat** :  
Mate  
it can’t be that tough to tell me what happened

 **Roadhog** :  
okay it’s not the easiest thing to explain to your boyfriend that you’re an asshole, alright?  
some fucking moron at work always making dumbass ignorant comments about everything.  
quips about me, quips about the world, quips about politics, just  
a hundred stupid things.  
and today it was  
fuck im not as good at typing off the cuff like you are.

He’s still trembling but he’s calming down slowly. Every bit of information he gets makes the world feel more real and less just his imagination filling in the gaps.

In the space between Roadhog’s messages, he hits the call button.

_Why did you do that you stupid impulsive cunt I don’t think talking instead of typing is really gonna help-_

Mako actually picks up and Jamie is locked in a cringe. “H-hey mate, didn’t know if this would help? Ya don’t gotta…”

He hears a deep sigh from the other end of the call. “Dunno,” an exceptionally tired Mako rumbles. “Good to hear your voice though.”

Jamie feels some of the tension dissipate and he curls more comfortably into his chair, idle hands picking his shorts. “You too,” he mumbles back.

Mako takes a couple more deep breath before sighing; it sounds muffled, like he’s rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Goddamnit. Anyway… I don’t even know what they were talking about but I just come in the room when- I guess it sounded like Josh, you know that guy I’m kind of friends with-”

“Mhm,” Jamie follows along.

“Well sounded like Josh was telling him to shut up about something especially ‘cause it bothered me. And the guy just laughs and says that my fat ass would never do anything about it.”

Jamie hisses quietly; he doesn’t know if the mic pics it up. He hopes it doesn’t.

“Then he saw me enter the room and he just smirks and ‘ain’t that right?’ And, I don’t know. I just walked over and decked the guy and he was out. I…” another deep, frustrated sigh. “I can’t deal with doing nothing. Being passive. I know I should have done it another way. Old habits die hard.”

“Ehh, ya gotta elaborate on that one, mate.”

Mako chuckles, but there’s not much humour in it. “I… before, or… my childhood sucked. Grade school and high school… everyone has an opinion until they get punched in the mouth. And everyone wanted to give their opinion of me. I spent a lot of time in detention or suspended. Ended up in juvie for a couple months for breaking a kid’s nose. Spent as much of it as I could memorizing my textbooks so I could speed through school after with the help of some teachers who were way nicer than they really should have been.” He pauses with a deep breath. “I was a wreck. But people shut up real fast.”

Silence hangs in the air for a moment.

“I know it’s kinda fucked up-”

“That’s bonzer, mate."

“No it isn’t,” Mako huffs but he sounds like he’s grinning.

“I mean, not… really?” Jamie shifts in his chair, back far down the seat and knees resting against the desk edge. “We’re not supposed to be doin’ shit like that. Like, taking things into our own hands. Because that’s not how you get forward in this society, roight? Gotta be _passive_ and _polite_ ‘n blah blah. I had to learn that. So I guess… yeah I mean, you shouldn’t go around punchin’ assholes. But I ent mad? Like… god I’d love to see you deck someone.”

“You’re getting off message.”

“Yeah yeah, but, mate iunno. I guess it’s fucked up that you did it, and don’t do it again because you scared the piss outta me, but. It’s kinda the thing we all wish we could do.”

“Mm. We’re assholes, aren’t we.”

Jamie titters. He doesn’t feel quite right, but he does feel better. He’s got a lot of thoughts rolling under the surface and the words have kind of stopped; he’s going to have to deal with those thoughts soon.

Mako starts saying something else but suddenly Jamie’s phone is screeching with its usual morning alarm. “F-fuck!” He scrambles to shut it off. “Sorry, alarm. Shit I have to leave in a few…”

“Get going.”

“Ugh I didn’t sleep…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t sweat it. Message me the details?”

“Yeah.”

“Ta,” Jamie says, voice quiet. He ends the call and shifts off of his chair, pulling on a grease-stained tank top, ratty hoodie and hole-filled jeans. He forgets his food (again) and hops on the next bus. He reads on the way as Mako dutifully details the aftermath of the event.

He doesn’t feel like reading too deep or answering yet, and it seems like Mako isn’t really expecting his response. He curls up on the thin bus seat and feels like he’s a foot underwater.

Mako was a delinquent, just like him. That was fine. Mako never felt like mentioning that in almost two years of a relationship. _He didn’t have to. I never asked him._

 _I tell him everything about me._ He feels like a petulant child. _He tells me some stuff. I guess. He just doesn’t talk as much as me?_

He stares at his screen without reading any of it.

_What else do I don’t know then?_

He nearly whines to himself, practically forgetting he’s in public. He hates this. He hates being unsure. He had this picture in his head, and on his screen of what Mako was. It’s not a complete picture though, and that fact is so apparent that it makes his stomach clench.

_Maybe I should ask Mercy? Ask her if I should be worried about him being… something I don’t know about?_

He wants to puke. That sounds like a horrible idea. Mako readily told him everything he asked. Mako would have told him if there was anything else…

_Or would he?_

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he mutters to himself under his breath.

The robotic voice of the bus’ announcer calls out the name of a street he doesn’t recognize. His head snaps up; shit he missed his stop. He scrambles to pull the cord to get off and stumbles past people and onto the street. A check of the transit app shows the next bus in the opposite direction is in half an hour; it’ll be faster if he jogs.

“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK,” he snarls and gets going.

What a good morning.

 

\---

 

He ends up being twenty minutes late. Thankfully Torbjorn isn’t there and Bridgette buys his excuse that he had some stomach troubles and doesn’t pass his tardiness along. This handy bit of bullshit is also convenient for explaining away his utter lack of focus the entire day. It takes him the whole first half of his shift to do a job he’d normally be able to wrap up in a couple hours. There's tension and pain in the muscles of his upper back from the stress and the work.

During his lunch break, he finally reads the messages he got this morning properly.

 **Roadhog** :  
a new guy called the police.  
they took me down to the station and it was honestly pretty boring. put me in a cell. let me make one call. got in touch with angela because she’s still working in the city.

 **Roadhog** :  
doesn’t sound like the guy is pressing charges though. they told me i’m likely to just get a fine and have to check in with an officer once a week or so.

Several hours between that message and the next.

 **Roadhog** :  
it’s going to take a chunk out of my savings. i was getting ready to go back to school.  
wanted to see you at some point.  
i fucked up.

Mako wants to see him. His heart hurts, which doesn’t seem like a thing that should be able to happen.

He’s okay with the reason it happened, but the questions from it hurt. He’s so stupid and in love and he doesn’t know what to do with anything.

Ten minutes left on break. It’s with a massive amount of guilt that he taps a name that isn’t Roadhog.

 **Junkrat** :  
hey merc,  
Uhm you’re probably busy but, you there? Could use someone to chat w.

 **Mercy** :  
Exhausted, but here. I don’t work tonight, thank god.  
I assume this is about Mako?

 **Junkrat** :  
uhm, yeah…  
Well,

He pauses. What did he come here to say? How was he going to even say it?

 **Junkrat** :  
You know him, right?

 **Mercy** :  
Not as well as you, lol.  
But yes?

That gives him some pause.

 **Junkrat** :  
I guess i’m just scared. I mean, not… THAT this happened but… that i didn’t really know anything about that part of him.  
I dunno how to say this, uhh… shit

 **Mercy** :  
You want to know if he’s a violent person?

Jamie wants to turn into a speck of dust and just not exist for a bit.

 **Mercy** :  
No. Not to my knowledge.  
He told me what happened, and I don’t… I don’t condone what he did and I am upset but I understand why he did it, and I won’t let it ruin my friendship.  
Sorry you probably weren’t looking for that from me but,  
It’s been on my mind.

 **Junkrat** :  
yeah… this is weird.

 **Mercy** :  
Are you okay?

 **Junkrat** :  
I think I will be.

 **Mercy** :  
It’s okay if you’re not.  
Time is the best medicine.  
You know, after actual medication.  
Take it easy… I need to get some rest.

 **Junkrat** :  
Thanks, merc.

He sighs and switches off the phone’s screen. He should probably message Mako back, but he still feels textually choked, and he decides to wait and breathe.

Four hours left. He gets back to work, and finds it in himself to lose himself in the smells and sounds of mechanics and metal.

 

\---

 

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey, im home from work now.  
Sorry needed some time to think.  
You probably needed a nap.  
Pig’s pen probably isn’t the most conducive sleeping environment  
But hey maybe it is for you D;  
That’s a pig joke i made

 **Roadhog** :  
lol.

 **Junkrat** :  
Uhh anyway  
I been thinkin all day how to say this without sounding like a right cunt and havent come up with one so bear with me

 **Junkrat** :  
I know you aren’t the most talkative but i feel like it woulda been nice to know? that you had a messed up school too. and had problems. so it wasnt so random to hear this  
you dont got a reason to tell me every second of your life so that sounds like a dumbass thing to say  
and its not like you dont talk to me  
But this just  
worried me  
its scary  
i like you so much right? and it reminds me that. i haven’t even met you? and that there could be other big things i dont know?  
i dont know hog i feel kinda fucked up  
i dont want you to be mad at me for feelin this way  
like im okay with what happened but also kinda not

 **Junkrat** :  
okay i think that’s most of what i want to say.

The emotions he’s been numbing all day with labour come back and he’s already crying like an idiot. Also he’s starving.

Waiting for the next message feels like waiting for a sentence to pass on some crime he’s not even sure he committed.

 **Roadhog** :  
you’re right. i probably should have told you. im not proud of those years and honestly the memories make me very uncomfortable, so it’s not something i ever thought or wanted to bring up.  
i always feel like i have nothing going on. i work eight hours a day doing nothing but lifting things most of the time. i have half a degree. i want to do more. i don’t even have anything interesting to say.  
you’ve got so much energy and i admire you for it. it comes through even in text. and when you’re down or unsure all i want to do is help you.  
and i don’t really know what that has to do with anything.  
iI don’t know how to explain myself properly.  
i’m so shit at this, rat.

His messages come with relative speed, like he’s not putting as much care into his words as usual. It helps.

 **Junkrat** :  
I wanna help you too.  
And im shit at it too.  
But i feel like we’re talking about this like proper fucking adults so thats something??

 **Roadhog** :  
yeah.

 **Junkrat** :  
this whole situation is dumb

 **Roadhog** :  
it is.

 **Junkrat** :  
im crying over bawsically nothing rn????

He didn’t really mean to type that.

_**Roadhog** is typing..._

Fuck. He buries his head in his hands and it’s only after a solid minute or so that he’s able to squint between his fingers at the screen.

 **Roadhog** :  
Jamie this may be the most cliche thing i’ve ever typed but you are the best of my damn life right now and i’ll do my best to be more open.  
fifty-fifty.  
alright?

Oh.

Cool.

 **Junkrat** :  
yeah.  
yeah sure.  
fifty-fifty.

They talk for three more hours about the experience before Mako blasts him after referencing that he hadn’t eaten all day. Mako goes to bed because he, as Jamie had guessed, did not get much sleep at the police station. Jamie follows soon after.

“Fifty-fifty,” he mutters, looking at the photo on his phone’s wallpaper while he crawls under the covers before the sun’s even fully gone down.

They can do it.

 

\---

 

Mako takes the next couple days off as has been gently suggested by his employer; apparently his boss likes him though so he’s not going to lose his job. The owner seems to recognize that if the guy was obnoxious enough that the otherwise silent Mako was moved to violence, he should be keeping a closer eye.

The guy he hit didn’t want to press charges; Jamie crows that he just doesn’t want to admit he got okod but a guy wearing nail polish. Mako snorts.

Mako’s savings are still a mess though and he’ll have to cut some corners to get back to where he was. Neither of them have an answer to that one.

Jamie has this weekend off and Mako’s going to work back on Monday. For now, they talk, and they play.

It feels nice to just… be.

 **[Makune] (team): found a nomad.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): ehehe otw**  
  
**[Makune] (team): in pines.**

Trashfire joins Makune waiting on a ledge overlooking a popular levelling spot currently being controlled by a couple members of their old guild.

 **[Trashfire] (team): gosh i bet other people would LOVE to use this spawn**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): and these drongos just hoggin’ it.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): howsabout we show them how to really hog a joint?**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): ;D**  
  
**[Makune] (team): shut up.**

Makune the shaman transforms into something considerably more bulky before dropping down. Trashfire follows up on the surprise with an outpouring of fire spells. It doesn’t take long before the only thing left in the spawn are the mobs.

 **[Trashfire] (talk): <3**  
  
**[Franken] (whisper) what the fuck????**  
  
**[Makune] (team): easy.**

They split before anyone else of a higher level would have a chance to come up and challenge them, leaving the small amounts of treasure the players dropped to add insult to injury.

They’re not supposed to pointlessly kill players under the name of Overwatch; without much else to accomplish they occasionally hop on to their guildless alternate characters to be cathartically mean.

They settle in a new area; Jamie recognizes it as the one where they first met in a rare recollection of a good memory. He idly turns up his graphic settings to take in the blue-green grass and sea.

A lower level player is messing around against the minotaur mobs. Once there’s an opening, he watches both Makune and the player stop moving. Jamie knows what he’s doing and grins.

This is a new habit of theirs while playing solo now: harass old guildmates and anyone else playing less than friendly, and trade random newbies money they aren’t using. It’s nothing to them but it’s massive to lower levels.

 **[Fiction] (talk): ?**  
**  
[Fiction] (talk): thank you?**

Jamie tosses some random items the way of the slowly soloing healer before she moves on, confused.

 **[sp33dy] (whisper): always runnig away**  
**  
[sp33dy] (whisper): cpme back and fight, pussy**

He ignores the whisper from one of Nomad’s leaders with a smile; it’s certainly nostalgic to be on the receiving end of hate from people who thought he cared about his reputation.

 **[Trashfire] (team): 50 time?**  
**  
[Makune] (team): sure.**

They angle their characters to sit in a secluded area; they could be doing this on discord just as easily but there’s still something comforting about the presence of 3d avatars interacting in some form of space.

 **[Trashfire] (team): i never knew my real mum.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): well or dad.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): i’m sorry.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): doesn’t really BOTHER me i was just tryin ta thing of something i adn’t already went on about alrdy**  
  
**[Makune] (team): that’s kind of a big thing. I don’t know if i can match that.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): hmm.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): lol its all good.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): like i think me “mum” dropped me off and fuck knows if dad was ever alive**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): lived at an orphanage type place for awhile, they hated me cuz id break everything n fuck w em all.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): i dont remember it real well**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): but im p sure they lied about me to my first foster parents to make me sound like not such a lil shit so they could get me out of there LOL**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): i was back in like a week**  
  
**[Makune] (team): not sure if you’re looking for my sympathy or to laugh along. i could do either.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): neither just. facts and stuff.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): again my memory is real shit about it all i dont remember many details**  
  
**[Makune] (team): you could get in contact with the orphanage if you wanted to look into your real parents.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): Not even a little lol.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): fuck em**  
  
**[Makune] (team): agreed.**

It’s been just under a week but this is their new hobby. There’s something calming in the blatant and pointless exchange of information.

 **[Makune] (team): hmm. i thought of something but it’s awkward.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): dang, that’s an emotion you feel? :O**  
  
**[Makune] (team): i dont know if awkward is an emotion.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): but yeah.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): i’m 24 and you’re my first real relationship.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): but i did try i suppose.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): after i moved out i used to go to bars and stuff. only ended up a one night stand or two.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): didn’t like it. at all.**  
  
**[Makune] (team): not sure if it was my fault for not seriously pursuing anyone or whoever else’s.**

Jamie’s not sure how he feels about that for a moment. There’s a twinge of reflexive jealousy but it’s quickly replaced by calming sense of achievement. He resists the urge to preen.

 **[Makune] (team): respond.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): ff sorry**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): thank you for tellin me.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): another successful transaction**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): <3**  
  
**[Makune] (team): <3**

He feels like he should say something more, although none of these things are really shared for emotions sake. He shrugs and taps away.

 **[Trashfire] (team): (ps cunts got no taste and subconciously ya knew you were jus waitin for a sexy aussie to save ur life in a video game, i get it, babe)**  
  
**[Makune] (team): you’re a moron.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): a sexy aussie moron**  
  
**[Makune] (team): you opened that package yet.**

Jamie jumps nearly out of his chair at the sudden topic shift and says “no!” before remembering Mako can’t hear him that way. The handful of times he’d thought of it over the week, he figured it was best to wait until things had calmed down. Like an adult. He’s quite proud of himself.

 **[Trashfire] (team): nah m8, waited for you!**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): also forgot some**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): but mostly waited!!**  
  
**[Makune] (team): lol**  
  
**[Makune] (team): you want to.**  
  
**[Trashfire] (team): obviously!!!!**

They both log off, leaving the digital green shores behind and decide to voice. Mako grumbles again about it “really being nothing” but Jamie assures him anything’s cool.

He takes a last look at the handwriting on the package first. It’s clear and the dots on his ‘i’s are little circles; he drinks up every detail he can get. Finally he grabs his knife and makes short work of the tape sealing the cardboard to reveal what’s inside.

He lets out something between a squeak and a shriek when he sees the items and Mako chuckles.

A matching pair of mini plushies stand out first: a pig and a rat. He dissolves into giggles. “Oh my god mate, they’re so cute…”

Mako mumbles something wordless that gives off an impression of embarrassment.

The next item has a little tag on it that indicates it’s actually from Mercy. “Aww! Ange put somethin’ in?”

“She insisted.”

Jamie inspects it- it’s a mini first aid kit in a sturdy box that looks like it’s unusually high in quality. _Take care of yourself!_ She has guessed correctly that he doesn’t have a kit in his home.

Next he pulls out a something that really catches his eye: a nice shiny multi-tool. “Ooo,” he digs it out of its packaging. There are layers of thin metal tools folded into the main handle. They’re all things he has in one form or another, but this will be convenient to carry around. “This thing is bonzer…”

“Thought it might be helpful.”

“Absolutely… wow geeze…”

There’s a couple other small items. A bottle of higher quality matte black nail polish is pulled out with a laugh. The bright cover of a Mad Max: Fury Road dvd case shows up next. “Aces! Don’t have a DVD player though… Guess it can go in the computer.”

“Mostly just to own it.... For the principle?” Mako hesitates. “I like collecting things, maybe that’s just me.”

“Nah it’s great!”

The unwrapping finishes with a small box of tea bags that look like they’re some fancy brand. Mako always sighs when Junkrat says he doesn’t like tea just because his mum had bad taste. Jamie promises he’ll put the effort into making himself a nice drink soon.

The individual items and their colour seemed to have run out, but the bulk of what was in the box remained. Jamie pulls up a single layer of tissue paper to reveal old, slightly cracked but still vividly black leather. He “ooos” as he reverently lifts the final item: a very large jacket. It has a variety of colourful patches on the lapels and little silver spikes on the shoulders. “Mate this is the coolest fuckin’ thing?”

“It’s probably way too big but it doesn’t fit me anymore and you mentioned needing a jacket.”

“I’m never taking it off.” Jamie drapes the thing over his shoulders. _It’s fucking huge_. It should still work for regular wear but it looks a bit ridiculous in the best way.

“Also thought you’d like the style.”

“Yesss.”

He buries his face in the old leather. It has that distinct smell of clothing that’s been packed away in a closet for too long, and something else.

_I am the lamest boyfriend. It is me._

“Mate this stuff is all… awesome.”

“I’m glad you like it… happy… late birthday.”

“Ya gotta give me your address,” Jamie yaps before he can really consider the fact that he’s not nearly as creative as Mako and he has no idea what he’d send.

“If you want,” Mako chuckles.

They hang around a bit more, on voice chat but not saying much. Jamie’s never been good with silence, but it feels like the right kind of silence. He curls up in the jacket and the faint smell of faded diesel and something unnameable but distinctly Mako that makes him feel kind of like he’s not alone.

Eventually they say their good nights because Mako is headed back to work tomorrow and so is Jamie. Jamie wishes him luck and gets up to tinker with his new multitool a bit before deciding to pack it in.

Before he does though, he snaps a shot of him drowning in the jacket and little else and sends it to Mako for the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s around nine at night when Jamie tosses his wrench backwards onto the bench and breathes in deeply. He slides out from under the car he’s working on and rolls off the skateboard. He stretches and his back screams in protest.

“Ow,” he whines to the empty shop, letting himself slide back into his usual slouch. He limps over to the bench where a radio is blaring the closest thing to a punk channel he can find in this town and turns it off. The shop is empty. The car he was working on belonged to a particularly impatient client and Jamie had only been too happy to take the overtime. His muscles and back are a wreck now though and he’s more than ready to head home.

He heads to the bathroom to clean off his hands at least a bit. He’s covered in even more oil and grease than usual and he pulls off his absolutely ruined work tank-top and takes a moment to appraise himself in the mirror. While he still has his host of physical problems, he’s been developing at least some muscle over the year he’s been working with heavy parts and awkward angles. He almost doesn’t look half-bad, he thinks, and he grabs his phone because he’s a shit.

He takes advantage of the larger bathroom mirror at work to take an exceptionally gratuitous shot of his shirtless upper half and fires it off, pleased with his own shamelessness.

 **Junkrat** :  
[Image uploaded: **10934823_438975.jpg** ]

 **Junkrat** :  
Not too shabby eh?  
;)

 **Roadhog** :  
seriously.

Jamie snickers and grabs an only moderately cleaner shirt to put on along with Mako’s jacket. He flicks off a few lights and gets ready to go home. All that’s left is to reposition the car and lock up.

 **Roadhog** :  
you’re ridiculous.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hey can i request a fiftyyyy

 **Roadhog** :  
i suppose.

 **Junkrat** :  
watchu think of my pics??

 **Roadhog** :  
i don’t know if that really counts in the context of information sharing but.  
i like them. you know that.

 **Junkrat** :  
Hoggyyyyyy.  
gimme somethin m8.

 **Roadhog** :  
sigh.

_**Roadhog** is typing..._

Jamie chuckles; he likes badgering affection out of Mako. It’s his favourite hobby. He usually wins. Usually.

He flips a switch to open the door and grabs the repaired car’s key fob and gets in. Torbjorn made him get enough of his license just to move the cars around the plot. His work has paid off and the previously sputtering engine now emits barely a whisper.

His phone vibrates and he pulls it out as the garage door pulls up slowly. He grins.

 **Roadhog** :  
I think your photos are as obnoxiously and inexplicably attractive as the rest of you and it’s painful how much i want to run my hands down your stupid, scrawny body after you’ve had a goddamn shower.

Jamie gives a bit of a shriek and a snicker at the comment which he immediately screenshots. “Fucking. Aces.” He breathes deep and backs up the car. That’s a nice thought.

 **Roadhog** :  
happy.

His hand casually taps out a _v-e-r_ and on the _y_ something very loud and sudden happens and it all goes black.

 

\---

 

 **Mercy** :  
Jamie, sorry to bother, but is everything alright?  
Mako said you just vanished the other day and none of us have seen you online.  
Hope you’re alright… hurry back!

 

\----

 

He feels like he’s swimming and everything’s dark. Occasionally there are flashes of light and half-present memories. He imagines Junkrat and Roadhog in their newbie gear messing around and Mako through the lens of a camera. He remembers spray painting a smiley face on a water tower and breaking his leg running from a guard dog. He remembers an antique motor he took pleasure in researching and learning how to fix.

He hears things. People are talking over him. It’s probably mum and dad number two. They’re talking to the teacher after he put glue in another kid’s milk. The kid was stupid for not watching anyway. He’ll fuck with the teacher’s chair for telling on him.

“-have anyone at all?”

“-other visited a week ago, nothing since.”

“Poor thing.”

He wasn’t too poor anymore; he’d been saving up. Was gonna ask Mako about visiting soon. Gosh he’d love to do that. He drifts in, and he drifts out, and it’s warm and dark and comfortable right up until it’s not.

“-should be soon.”

“Could use the bed.”

“Not that he’ll be out of here any time soon even if he wakes up.”

Jamie’s confused. Someone’s talking again, but who? It feels different now. He wants to ask what’s going on. Why won’t someone turn on a damn light? Or are his eyes closed? He thinks maybe his eyes are closed. They won’t open. He’s so fucking confused.

What’s the last thing he remembers? One of his fosters were there; for some reason Junkrat was level fifteen again? He had been fixing something.

Thinking is kind of uncomfortable but he remembers something about Mako saying something nice to him so things are probably okay. He calms for some time.

He approaches lucidity much less gently the next time. He hears faint beeping and chatter and before he can pick anything else out there’s light in his eyes. Miserable fucking blown out fluorescent light. He feels like he’s floating and being held down all at once when he opens his eyes. He regrets it immediately and it seems like it’d be much easier to just close them again and retreat into the darkness. He’s stubborn though and laying still for so long is making him itch all over.

 _The fuck am I?_ He tries to look around and it takes a surprising amount of effort. His neck is sore, but that’s nothing new. He sees the ceiling and its awful, unfamiliar bar lights. The beeping appears to be coming from some machines covered in grey-white aged plastic. They don’t look very high tech- green and white letters and lines on black. Reminds him of the first computers he ever touched in grade school.

He realizes suddenly and with no warning that he’s in a hospital and he immediately panics.

“H-... Hh…” his throat is croaking and horrifyingly dry. “H-hey!” he finally forces out. It’s barely a word. “Hey. HEY!”

He keeps going and slowly he gets louder and louder. His head is one of the only parts of him that seems to want to move and eventually he finds a door which a pastel-clad nurse is coming through.

“Hey!”

“Oh my goodness Mr. Fawkes, you’re awake!”

“Wha the fuh?” he stammers out and his mouth still feels like it’s full of cotton.

“You’re at Mercy Hospital, Mr. Fawkes. Please remain calm; I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake.”

“Wai-” she leaves the door. “Well, tha’s fuckin’ ironic,” he says to no one, practicing his mouth movement. “Fuckin’ ’ercy.’”

Time passes.

“I’m ‘al… c-calm as shit,” he enunciates carefully. He’s starting to feel more aware. He cranes his neck to try and look at the rest of himself to figure out why he isn’t moving. There are sheets over him but the silhouette is wrong. There must be casts on his upper arm as it’s splayed out weird. His thigh area is too. But what about-

It takes him a solid minute but he maneuvers his uncasted left arm to pull back the sheet. The casts on his right limbs reach his elbow and knee respectively, but there’s nothing else below that.

He stares.

“Why’s there… there ain’t nothin…” He tries to move his right side but it’s heavy. He aims for just clenching his right hand and he can feel his fingers. He promptly passes out.

 

\---

 

 **Lucio** :  
Hey man, haven’t heard from you in a bit. Everything okay?  
Wanted to tell you that I finally found some australian punk I like, thought you’d be proud, hah.  
Talk to you soon?

 

\---

 

He wakes up again a couple hours later. There’s another nurse there administering painkillers when it happens, and she fetches the promised doctor. He explains to him that he was blindsided by a truck going quite fast and it had mangled a significant portion of his right side. There had never been any hope for his limbs.

Somewhere around the time he starts getting into discussion of prosthetics, Jamie starts shaking. They try to placate him with soothing platitudes but he’s tuned it out by now. They promise to come back shortly and leave him be in a dimmed room.

The painkillers make him horrifically drowsy and he’s out again shortly after.

 

\---

 

 **D’Va (QUALIFIED FOR WORLD CUP GET ON MY LEVEL):**  
hey nerd!  
The hell are you???  
you got ange freaking out and roadhog’s all quiet and moody  
Like, more than usual  
Hurry up and get back already!

 

\---

 

Jamie dreams of Mako in all of the man’s stop-motion existence. Photos and moments through pixels and compressed sound. The next time he wakes, he hollers for a nurse.

“Mr. Fawkes, are you-”

“Where’s my phone!?”

“Your- oh, no one brought one in.”

“I need my phone! I gotta… I need to contact someone!”

The nurse flips through something or other on his chart and Jamie clenches both of his hands in a feeling that he doesn’t want to address right now.

“It says here we contacted your mother after checking your ID-”

“Don’t care about her!”

“I can bring in a phone if there’s someone you need to call,” the nurse is starting to look exasperated but smiles sweetly.

He pauses. He has Mako’s number, but it was in his phone. He only remembers his own number on a good day: he sure as hell doesn’t remember Mako’s from the twice they actually used the sms function.

He groans loudly and slams his head down as effectively as he can when the only thing he can reach is the pillow behind him. “I need a… a computer. Or like, a smartphone. For a chat app. Can I get one ‘a those?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sorry I’m not sure about that one… again, we can contact your mother, maybe she can help?”

“Nono, god I haven’t even seen her in a year it’s... “ he grumbles and grinds his teeth. “My boyfriend. He uh, he ain’t local. And my best friends. I gotta tell ‘em.”

“I’ll ask around,” she says, and then she disappears.

 

\---

 

 **Tracer** :  
hey J, i hope you’re alright.  
well if you are then it means you’re ignoring all of us on purpose which would be pretty mean!  
I MEAN, lol sorry you know, alright as a figure of speech.  
but really we’re all worried :(  
good luck love.

 

\---

 

Jamie’s convinced time moves at least twice as slow in the hospital. He doesn't know how long it’s been when the doctor stops in for another check up and discussion. “Are you fine to talk, Jamison?”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles. “Can ya get me a phone- smartphone I mean?”

The doctor looks taken-aback. Jamie’s immediately frustrated as he’s sure the dumb nurse didn’t even ask anyone. “Uhm, not at the moment…”

“Can ya find out what happened to mine?”

“I figured we could discuss that…” the doctor begins, pulling another chart out of his ass. “If you’re well enough to talk about the accident?”

“Sure,” Jamie grumbles and digs his head into the pillow, staring at the ceiling and not at the guy with the boring hair who has all his limbs.

“The police may be coming in to discuss this with you, but from what security footage at your work shows, you were pulling back out of a garage and near the street when a truck hit the side of the vehicle. While it appears you may have been distracted, it’s likely the other driver was drunk or similarly not paying attention. They sped off and no license plate was seen.”

“Fuckin’... great.” Oh good. He totalled one of their best clients’ car too. _Shit, what about work_ -

“And if you had your phone on you, it wasn’t brought in and is most likely broken or destroyed. We contacted your next of kin-”

“Yeah yeah.”

“And she came in to see you while you were in a coma. You suffered a minor concussion which put you out for around a week and a half but there don’t seem to be any lingering effects on that front. It got you through the surgeries easily at leas-”

“I been out a week and a half!?” 

“Almost two now. You’re lucky you woke up at all, let alone so soon.”

 _Shit. Fucking… shit._ He feels small.

“As you’re aware, your right limbs had to be amputated. Just above the knee and elbow as the joints were mangled beyond saving. With your permission we can look into getting you a basic prosthetics. A functioning foot will be easy enough, but hands with complex motor functions are not something currently covered by state insurance.”

“Fuckin’... aces,” he breathed out.

“I know this is a lot to take in… but-”

“Yeah get me suited up for the leg at least; need to fuckin’ walk,” he said bitterly. He means to speak with force but his words have no bite and his voice is high.

“Alright. It will take a bit more healing before you’re able to receive the base for it, but we’ll get you scheduled for that as soon as possible and submit the paperwork to the government.”

Jamie wants to say something but it slips his mind; he’s getting tired again. He’s also starting to cry against his will. “Yeah… sure. Think I need some rest, doc.” He doesn’t want to be watched crying, pathetic and half a person.

“Of course-” whatever else the man says is lost as Jamie floats off into some half-awake hell of time.

 

\---

 

 **Roadhog** :  
i don’t know why i’m messaging at this point.  
if you were there and wanted to talk you would.  
its not like my messages are temporary. they’ll still be here.  
it feels like doing nothing to say nothing though.  
i know it isn’t but if this is on purpose i’m going to come down there and kick your ass.  
i shouldn’t say that.  
there’s always the fear though. i guess.  
why am i typing any of this.  
i miss you.  
i hope you’re okay.  
look you know it’s bad i’m basically turning into you here. typing a whole bunch of shit that doesn’t matter for no reason.  
i’m going to stop now.  
bye.

 

\---

 

Jamie’s time awake and asleep are starting to equalize and he’s not particularly happy about it. He’s going stir crazy trying to keep his mind active without focusing on his missing bits. He asks a nurse for some paper and a pencil to occupy himself with _something_ and she gives him a pitying look as she goes to fetch one.

He snarls. He’s sick of being looked at with pity. He snatches the paper from her and reaches for the pen and- he shudders, he could practically feel himself holding it but all that’s really happening is he’s awkwardly extended a heavily bandaged stump towards the woman. Oh.

He takes the pen with his left and glares at her as she walks away.

He can’t write.

He can’t make notes or draw abstract designs. He can’t do anything but shudder unevenly across the page. It only takes a moment before he carefully sets the pen and paper down.

Jamieson learns what depression feels like.

He spends a day or two absolutely listless. The weight of unexplored things he’ll never be able to do rests on his chest. He lays in bed and stops thinking about phones and games and machines and fixing. The pain fades in and out with the ample painkillers he’s kept on. He just sort of exists amidst the fluorescent lights, plain linens, and the distant mumble of emergencies.

“Mr. Fawkes, you have a visitor if you’re up to seeing someone. Visiting hours are almost over so it can’t be long but...”

His head turns slowly; he didn’t even hear her come on. “Who…?” A small voice somewhere in the back irrationally yells something about Mako.

“A Ms. Lindholm? She said she’s a coworker.”

“Oh.” He supposes he’s been trying to not think about work and the job he’s probably lost.

“Would you like to see her?”

“Sure,” he says with a passing sigh. The nurse disappears for a moment. He looks down at his body and tries to muster up the strength to care about how he looks. He doesn’t.

Minutes later his buff, brunette coworker is standing at the entranceway and he can’t meet her eyes. “Jamie! Oh man…” She walks over slowly. “How… are you?”

He shrugs one shoulder rather than dignify that with a response.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Happens, I guess.”

Bridgette frowns down at him.

“Ya here to fire me?”

“What? No.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I mean, the crash sucked for us too but it wasn’t your fault.”

“Probably was,” he mutters.

She flicks him in the forehead and he scrunches his nose. “Police said it was probably a drunk driver, you shush. Insurance will cover the time you have to spend in the hospital and your job will be waiting when you come back. Anyway, work’s not really why I came.”

She pulls up a chair while he doesn’t ask the obvious. “Didn’t want to pry but you never really seemed like you had any local friends. Just your long distance buddies. Wasn’t sure if you’d have anyone to visit you.”

He snorts. “Nah, you’re the first. Though apparently my foster mum showed up while I was out of it.”

“Well… I brought you a couple of dad’s old manuals. We don’t have much reading material kicking around but you seemed to like that older stuff.” She unshoulders her bag and sets a couple old, thick and incredibly dull looking books at his bedside. He eyes them. “Is there anything else I could bring you? Can’t imagine it’s all that exciting in here.”

He shifts. “Ya find my phone in the wreck?”

She makes a face. “Sorry, it was totally crunched up.”

“Figures.”

Awkward silence passes between them.

“I imagine it’s not much help, but I’m sure it’ll get better. Technology’s awesome these days and they said you were going to be getting a prosthetic for your leg first at least?” She idly checks her phone. “Sorry I can’t stay too long; I had to come after work and they told me visiting hours are over soon. Anyway, you’re a tough motherfucker, Jamie, I know you won’t let this stop y-”

“Can I use your phone?” he interrupts suddenly. “Sorry it’s weird but I’d just need to download like, a chatting app… my friends…”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Bridgette fixes him with that pitying look he’s come to so despise from everyone else. “Which app? The service isn’t great in here but…”

“Discord.”

“I’ll get it.”

Bridgette sets to the task while Jamie fidgets in his bed. They make small talk for around ten painfully long minutes about the shop as it downloads and they avoid the missing elephants in the room. Jamie keeps eyeing the clock; visiting hour is apparently over in fifteen minutes but the data connection in the hospital sucks.

“Here,” she says at last and hands him the phone. He’s unfamiliar with the larger machine and he struggles to navigate it with one hand. He grunts and eventually just drops it on his lap and types his in login information.

He’s met with… so many notifications.

The circular icons of all his friends are lit up with red numbers and he immediately feels tears prickle in his eyes. Bridgette seems to sense this immediately as she offers to leave the room. He nods, silently thankful.

He doesn’t have time for everyone; he touches the icon with the pink pig face with a shaking hand.

The chat automatically loads to his last messages and he sees a flash of his shirtless bathroom photo and he nearly gags. He makes the chat jump to present, past lines and lines of Mako’s icon. He can’t bring himself to read them all. Not now.

 **Junkrat** :  
he y

 **Junkrat** :  
mako i dont got lon /

The achingly familiar spectre of _**Roadhog** is typing…_ appears for just one second before the phone buzzes with a call instead. He swallows a choked throat and hits accept, fumbling to pick the phone back up and hold it to his ear.

“ _Jamie!?_ ”

He’s never heard so much urgency in Mako’s voice before and that alone fucks him up beyond repair. The first thing he manages to get into the receiver comes out a sob.

“Jamie? Are you alright?”

He thinks about making a pun and instead makes more ugly noises. “S-sorry Hog, I f-fucked up…”

“Are you alright?”

“Dunno?” His breath comes out in shudders. “I’m i-in the hospital. Got in an accident. Lost…”

He can’t say it. He closes his eyes shut and tries to wish everything away but Mako’s voice on the other end.

“What happened?”

“Fucked up in the car. Phone’s gone. Couldn’t remember your number. I’m on Bridgette’s phone she came to visit…”

“Jamie, are you okay?”

The repeated question digs into him. “No.”

Mako takes a deep breath which comes out choppy over the bad connection. “Okay. I’m going to message you my number right now so you can copy it down, alright?”

He nods, then remembers Mako can’t see him. “You’re gonna hate me.”

“No I’m not.”

“It’s my fault.”

“I doubt that.”

“I fucked up.”

“Everyone does that. I still love you.”

 _Love_. Wait. Fuck. Fuck they’d never used the L word before. Jamie chokes out something wordless in response.

Jamie’s haggard stuttering breaths duel with Mako’s deep, long ones.

“I love you, Jamie." Now Mako sounds surprised at his own words, a little quieter, but he doubles down. "And you’ll recover, and we’ll get through this. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

He jerks in surprise when the door opens again and he’s blinking at Bridgitte with big, embarrassing tears in his eyes. He brings up his arm to wipe them and- damnit, missing hand again. “Fuck…”

Bridgette smiles apologetically. “Sorry J, they’re kicking me out…”

He nods. “Sorry mate I gotta go, I’ll see if one of these hospital wankers can hook me up with a phone at some point, send me your number right now, yeah?”

“Sending it now.”

“A-alright… I’ll talk to ya…”

Hog takes a louder breath as they share the last of their hurried moment together. “Bye.”

The call ends and Jamie struggles not to erupt in any more waterworks as he asks Bridgitte to write down the number before logging out of the app. He hands her phone back clumsily. “Thanks…”

“Anything you want me to bring? I can probably drop by again on Thursday.

“Some junk food and a couple more books?”

“Sure thing.” She ruffles his hair like he’s a younger sibling or something and he glares with all the venom of a baby chick. She smiles and wishes him a good evening.

Jamie spends the rest of the night forgoing the books he’s already been given to stare at the phone number and memorizes it until it’s the only thing he’s truly sure of rattling around in his scrambled brain.

That, and Mako saying I love you.

 

\---

 

Time crawls and he seethes right along with it. He has a frustration and a hunger that he uses to keep himself sane though; he’s going to make things work even though he’s not quite sure how yet. He goes for surgery to have something implanted in his leg stump to receive a prosthetic. He does the exercises and flexes the therapist tells him to. He tosses and turns to the feelings of limbs that aren’t actually there. He calls Mako on an off-white handheld phone that looks older than him that he has to ask the nurses for every day or so. He does call his foster mum at least once to let her know he’s still alive. Her concern sounds genuine but unfortunately a new job keeps her from coming to the city to help much. He shrugs it off when she suggests skipping days.

He still hasn’t mentioned the whole missing limbs thing to Mako. He assures himself repeatedly that Mako’s statement of support was a blanket one that would cover even this, but he wants to wait until he knows how to handle it himself before he makes it public.

Mako tells him stories from work and from the game. Jamie tells him stupid little anecdotes from his time in the hospital. Jamie reads the books Bridgitte brings him and practices his left-handed writing in notebooks. It’s frustrating as hell. He’s pent up and wants to crawl out of his skin.

“Relax,” Mako’s voice is engineered to make him turn into a puddle. He’s doing it on purpose; Jamie can tell, with that low slow tone. “We’ll have fun when you’re out. I’ll take as many stupid pictures of my arms as you want.”

“I do love your arms.”

“I’ll make you grab some take away and hot chocolate. Then you have to rest in your own bed.”

“You’re being downright pornographic, mate.”

“Don’t pop a boner in front of a nurse.”

“Why, jealous?”

The banter gets him through the rest of the day just barely. They rarely talk about money, or their conditions, or a future with any difficult questions. Jamie knows it’s a rickety plank over a bottomless pit but as he’s eyeing the prosthetics the doctor is showing him, he’ll keep his balance on it as long as he can.

They all look creepy with their pale peach plastic. The doctor looks at him funny when he asks if he can paint them. “I… suppose so?” The government doesn’t cover too many varieties so he makes his choice and they move on. That night, he makes it to the bathroom himself with his crunch and IV stand and stares at himself in the mirror.

He knows he needs to see this. He needs to accept it. He’s going to get metal shoved into one stump tomorrow. He has a stump. Two stumps. He’s crippled. He’s handicapped. He’s disabled. He’s lost some of his tentative muscle mass and there are bags under his eyes. His hair is dishevelled and not in a way that could be considered attractive by even the most generous standards. He needs a shower.

Two-thirds of him stares back from the mirror and he fights the nausea. He forces himself to look at the stumps and the scars. He tries to ignore the phantom limb of feeling; this is all he is now. It’s going to have to be good enough for him if he expects it to be good enough for Mako.

“Survived everything else, I’ll survive this, and I’ll survive some more bullshit,” he mutters at his reflection with a shaking voice. “World’s gonna have to try harder than that to put me in the ground.”

He flicks off the light and hops back to bed.

 

\---

 

Jamie hobbles around like a toddler on his new metal limb. It’s awkward as hell; the knee joint is hard to get used to and his already-bad posture makes the doctor’s wince. The prosthetic is apparently temporary until he’s recovered for another month or so, and should only be used sparingly.

He can get used to this; he thinks, pacing loping circles around his room while the doctors have left with orders to rest. He’s sure as shit going to be painting the creepy fake foot at the bottom though. It keeps wigging him out.

Eventually he gives up and flops back onto the hospital bed, whimpering in pain. The doctors say he can head home soon as long as he comes in for frequent checkups and doesn’t walk for more than an hour or two a day while he’s healing. He’s going to raise a fuss tomorrow about getting the hell out of here and back to his computer at first light. He’s pretty sure that he should be responsible and wait but, fuck that right in the ass.

He has to go home. He has to talk to Mako. He has to figure out what to do about work. He has to find out how much money he’s left with. He has to worry about rent. He has to talk to Mako.

“See, I’m all good!” He’s hardly slept thanks to the pain of missing things and he looks like a figurative wreck as well as a literal one, but he’s annoying enough that he’s let go with a hefty bottle of painkillers and instructions. Another coworker - Bridgette was busy - is doing him a favor and picking him up.

His primary nurse approaches him at last with a fold-up wheelchair to help him out which he is apparently not allowed to refuse for legal reasons. It’s accompanied with a fair-sized plastic bag of something. Jamie gives her a questioning look as he pokes it with a crutch.

“Oh, just some of your clothing and items that were on you when we brought you in. I believe your keys are in there, though some things you might not want to… erm...”

Jamie ignores her and he digs through at while he’s forced to be wheeled out of the building. “Christ,” he mutters when he touches familiar leather; he’d damn near forgot about the jacket. His stomach clenches at the sight of more than a couple of the old patches stained with burgundy-brown blood. It’s been washed but… He lifts it up with one hand and looks at the scars on its right side, as well as the torn arm.

“Sorry dear, I suggested you-”

“It’s fine,” he snaps. He dons the coat awkwardly in his sitting position. He must look a morbid sight which gives him some small level of satisfaction. It irks him that he can’t even pretend to imagine Mako’s scent on this thing anymore; it smells like gross detergent and stale space.

He takes his first breath of fresh air in ages and he immediately wants to collapse in joy. The singular crutch they’ve forced upon him on top of the clumsy false leg keep him from doing so. The sky is a miserable grey and it’s starting to get frosty out. He adjusts his grip on the crutch and tries not to teeter awkwardly on his imbalanced body. The sky is so high and his body so weird that he almost feels dizzy looking up. The painkillers probably weren’t helping either.

People look at him weird as they walk in and out of the hospital’s front door while he waits for his coworker to show up. He glares at them right back and they look away quickly. He can’t tell if he hates it or finds it fucking hilarious.

“Holy shit mate, you really did get fucked up. Sorry.”

His coworker finally arrives, snapping him out of a nasty look he’s fixing on an old woman. Jamie just shrugs and gets into the car. “Y’know. Shit happens.”

“Still uhh… sorry.”

The part-timer that Jamie had spent many a day around can now barely look at him. It’s like some sort of new superpower. He crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. Nothing.

“Address?”

“Roight.”

Half an hour later of awkward small talk and they’re there. Home sweet home is a door right off a sidewalk in the side of a store and he thanks his nervous driver with a wave of his stump that makes the man recoil. He still doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He settles for fumbling with his keys left-handed while juggling the crutch.

The steep steps up are a massive pain and he has to lean heavily against a wall to manage it. He’s out of breath thanks to both the awkward effort and how out of shape he is thanks to being bedridden for three weeks. The keys come out again and he drops them in front of his apartment’s inner door.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he snarls. It’s another production to pick them back up and finally, _finally_ , he’s home.

The air smells somehow stale as he drags his sorry ass in. He almost immediately goes to collapse on his bed before he remembers the computer, and maneuvers himself into his computer chair, glad to be off his feet.

The computer doesn’t start up the first time he presses the button and he almost has a heart attack. The second one works though.

“C’mon c’mon c’mon,” he growls, bouncing his good knee and waiting for it to start up. He hunts and pecks to get his password in and then has to reach to yank his mouse over to where he can use it with his left hand.

He double-clicks on the Discord icon.

 **Junkrat** :  
yold ya id b back  
had 2 figfht them nurse soff w a stick

He double checks the time- yeah Mako should be home. It takes a couple minutes.

 **Roadhog** :  
you’re at home?

 **Junkrat**  
ya  
didnt have time fior takeaway tho  
;(

Emoticons are a challenge and it takes so long to type.

 **Roadhog** :  
how are you feeling?

 **Junkrat** :  
so many q marks im blesed on this sday

 **Roadhog** :  
i’m going to assume that means you’re still high on painkillers.

 **Junkrat** :  
yesss

 **Roadhog** :  
be careful with that stuff.

 **Junkrat** :  
its all good

 _It’s a bit more than painkillers_ , he thinks.The chat goes a bit silent and Jamie realizes it’s because it’s usually him that initiates in stupid conversations and typing is such a goddamn pain…

 **Junkrat** :  
missed ya m8  
so much  
gflad 2 be back

Right now he mostly feels tired. He should tell Mako. He should _really_ tell Mako.

 **Roadhog** :  
i missed you too.  
you should tell the others you’re back; everyone’s been worried.  
ange is probably going to drill you for hours about the quality of your medical care.  
fuck.  
i really missed you.  
i want to see you.

Jamie’s stomach clenches.

 **Junkrat** :  
no more phome sry :(  
ill get a new one obnce its easier 2 get out of the house

 **Mako** :  
you have the money?

 **Junkrat** :  
bossghal says i get insutance thayt pays for the days i miss. So i shoundnt b 2 bad

 _I sdont lknow if i can even work there nemore th_ \- he types before backspacing. Shit. Fuck. What if he actually can’t work anymore. If he can barely open his door or type, how is he going to take apart engines?

 **Mako** :  
that’s good.  
do you need to sleep, you sound a little… off.

 **Junkrat** :  
makin fun of mre accent r u

He’s at a loss for words when normally they flow so freely. Things feel awkward and stilted. Maybe it’s because he’s sort of keeping a secret when he never does (not a true secret, he tells himself, just an omission for a brief period of time). He doesn’t feel right in his own body on his own chair at his own keyboard and something twists in his gut.

 **Junkrat** :  
yeh im p bushed tho  
sry ill b more upbeat tmrw probably

 **Mako** :  
that’s fine.  
take your time.

 **Junkrat** :  
<3

He clicks over to the group chat for just a moment so as not to be rude

 **Tracer ( <3 Em)**:  
is that Junkrat I see online? :O???

 **Junkrat** :  
oi guess whos back cunts

 **Lucio** :  
Oh wow man, welcome back!

 **Tracer ( <3 Em)**:  
Are you alright? That was an awful long hospital stay!

 **D’Va @blizzcon 2018 world cup** :  
hey it’s the trash nerd!!  
missed ya  
i mean  
engies r actually viable in faeriefire and i need to run it for the new necro set

The messages flood by and they’re overwhelming. He closes his eyes and ignores them to type.

 **Junkrat** :  
sry i still aint feelin gr8 tho so im off 2 nbed just wabnted to say hi

 **Lucio** :  
That’s alright man, get your rest!

 **Tracer ( <3 Em)**:  
‘night!

He says a quick good night to Mako too before powering down the computer abruptly. It’s only been a couple hours and he’s basically already forgotten how to walk on his new leg. Luckily it’s only a few steps to bed and he collapses on it, unhooking the thing and sighing into his covers.

He thought he’d feel better at home. What he feels is better, but it’s definitely not good.

 

\---

 

He sleeps until a siren from a passing fire truck wakes him up around two in the afternoon. For the first time in weeks a nurse doesn’t immediately shove a tray of shitty hospital food in his face and he has to hop over to the kitchen to grab some canned ravioli. He can’t open it for love or money so he switches to a frozen microwave meal which is a little easier to maneuver around.

He lets it cool while his computer boots up. There’s an email sent a few hours ago from Torbjorn asking if he’ll be good to come back to the shop to at least discuss the future or do some light consultation work at the beginning of the next week. He laboriously replies in the positive despite not knowing what the hell he’s going to do.

Mako’s still at work for another couple hours so he doesn’t feel any pressure on that front. He does click on Mercy’s name after some trepidation.

 **Junkrat** :  
hey doc,  
give it to mer straight  
how longs it take to styop being depressed over losing a limb  
or\two

_**Mercy** is typing..._

He snorts.

 **Mercy** :  
Uhm.  
Hello.  
And also.  
What?

 **Junkrat** :  
u heard ne

 **Mercy** :  
I’m sorry I was speaking with Mako and he never indicated that that… particular type of injury had occurred.

 **Junkrat** :  
i havne told him yet  
im gobnna real soon i promise  
and im sry for soundin short w ya but im not rly doin 2 hot rn so my sovcial skills likee aint happenin  
do you habe anny suggestions?

 **Mercy** :  
That’s… understandable. I do hope you tell him soon though.  
I’ll try to look up some things for you.  
Which ones, if I may ask?

He explains as best as he can and Mercy immediately fires off some medical studies and articles for him to read about both mental and physical recovery. She’s a godsend and he promises to have a proper conversation thanking her once he feels less like shit.

He barely notices when Mako messages him for the first time hours later and honestly he’s so tired of typing with only his left hand it takes him awhile to respond. He takes his time typing his greeting so Mako won’t notice his handicap as obviously. After a couple messages he clicks over to group chat; RocketQueen has pinged everyone to get ready for their weekly dungeon run.

 **Junkrat** :  
oi lets do the dungeon run  
will help me focus maybe?

 **Mako** :  
sure. its been awhile.

He feels a pittance of endorphins give him energy as he clicks on the group voice chat. Everyone is loud and friendly and happy to hear him, obnoxious voice and all, and it feels like a big hug. He boots up the game and is greeted with Junkrat’s stupid grinning face and his pet pig on the character select screen. He logs in to the familiar fake world where he last left it, hanging out with Mako on a sandy little island far from any quest points.

His left hand naturally moves to its WASD position and his right- the mouse sits there. He stares at it for a second, the voice of his best friends bantering in the background. He jerks and picks up the mouse with his singular, left hand, and throws it across the room with enough force the USB connection is ripped out without any resistance. Suddenly he has no way now to turn off the voice chat and he settles jamming his finger on the power button, stabbing at it violently for a moment before holding it down. The sound cuts out and the fans whir to a slow stop.

He takes his painkillers and curls up under every sheet and cover he owns.

 

\---

 

It takes awhile for him to find it in the clutter of tools and dirty clothing but he eventually unearths the old digital camera he unwittingly stole from foster mum. He’s currently sitting on his bed with it as a cold white light shines through the windows. He woke up early on account of going to bed so late. He stares at the camera.

“Stop bein’ a wuss, ‘Rat,” he mutters to himself. Keeping something from Mako hurts more than the idea of Mako seeing him as somehow less thanks to this. He holds the camera up and tries to stop his hand from shaking as he attempts to pick an angle that is both flattering and shows off the damage. He smiles, but it’s a crooked, sorry smile. He forces himself not to study its imperfections and just makes sure he got a shot that isn’t too blurry and that includes all of him.

He hops over to the computer and turns it on before grumbling and hobbling back to find where he’d thrown his mouse. Luckily it appears to still work; he just has to shove the batteries back in. He opens discord and last night’s messages appear.

 **Roadhog** :  
okay.  
i know you’re going through a lot right now.  
but you can’t just disappear like that.  
it fucked me up not hearing from you for that long and I was scared to death. I know that one wasn’t your fault but if you can at all control it, please.

 **Roadhog** :  
and for the love of god I would really like to know how you are.  
you think I can’t tell when you’re trying to hide something.  
you haven’t talked at all about your injury.  
ange said those things can be traumatic but.  
i want to know, Jamie.  
we said fifty-fifty.

Jamie swallows the lump in his throat as he uploads the image. Mako’s right. He’s always right. He closes his eyes and hits send.

 **Junkrat** :  
[Image uploaded: **IMG_112** ]  
sorry.

He goes back to reading more articles Mercy sent and making himself some food - shit he’s going to have to figure out how to shop soon - and then he hears his speakers ding.

 **Roadhog** :  
holy shit jamie.

 **Junkrat** :  
sorry

 **Roadhog** :  
for fuck sakes don’t be.  
are you alright?

 **Junkrat** :  
all lefvt actuuuaaallyyyyyy

 **Roadhog** :  
not really a joking time

 **Junkrat** :  
well i aint got muvh else to do  
no im not alriht im a fking mess  
i van barely walk i dont have a hand typing like this is actually thre worst i cant play the game anymor4e and idk how the fuck im gonna fgo back to work this monday and evberyone was starihng at me or they wouldnt look at all  
and i know yoy arnt an assholr but im still scared youll think im gtross n creepty afnd usekess

Mako starts a call. Jamie fights to choke out the sob stuck in his throat before he joins it.

“Move in with me.”

“W... what?” He blanks completely.

“Come here and live with me.”

“Mate…” his voice is a quiet croak, once he’s able to summon it at all. “I’m basically useless right now, will take a lot of money to fly my dumbass and my things over and I’m probably about to lose my job and you wanted to go back to school.”

“I know,” Mako sounds annoyed that Jamie is being the responsible one for once. “I don’t know how the money’s going to work out. I don’t know the logistics. I’m just. I’m sick of feeling helpless. I’m sick of not holding you. You can come here. Recover. Get an easier job or something eventually and we’ll just… I don’t fucking know, okay? I just want you here.”

Jamie’s whole being is shaking. “Mako…”

The man a country away sighs loudly and slowly. “Sorry. That was probably too much. Don’t want to… pressure you.” He sighs again, frustrated.

Jamie looks at his computer, and his room. His little messy kitchen full of things he can’t open and his frameless bed. He looks at the jacket with the missing arm and the outdated camera. He looks at the fake pink foot he has yet to paint. He takes a deep fucking breath.

“So when’s the flight, mate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always used to joke that if a fic started with Junkrat having all his limbs, you could guess what was inevitably going to happen...
> 
> Thanks as always to [Thyme-Basalt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) for betaing, and every goddamn lovely and perfect person out there who's commented or left kudos. Y'all are wonderful and badass.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. <3

For the month and a half it takes for him to be ready for the trip, the fact that the flight itself is only three hours seems absurd. The fact that those three hours happen to be the most pants-shittingly terrifying of his whole life is also absurd.

He looks out the window to the sparkling ocean below while a beleaguered woman beside him shifts uncomfortably. Somewhere several aisles back, a baby threatens to cry. He closes his eyes and tries in vain to relax through his first ever flight that took so much to happen.

He’d needed to get his body sorted out first. His trips to the hospital were frequent and eventually he was fitted for a more permanent prosthetic. It’s not much fancier than the one he already had but it fits a bit better, the length is more appropriate, and the pieces are a bit more complex. (He wants to take it apart and make something better already. Eventually.) It takes a lot to keep him content with just a coat of bright orange paint for flair.

He’s more confident with walking now; it still gets awkward at times and it can still hurt like a bitch after a long day, but he doesn’t need the crutches anymore. He’s even starting to enjoy the double-takes as people gawp for just a second at his nearly fluorescent limb before turning politely away to pretend he doesn’t exist.

He then has to deal with his job.

His first visit back in the office consists of a frank conversation about his ability to continue working there. They had been willing to try and make him fit in somewhere, but when he says he’s going to be leaving anyway, they are both disappointed and probably relieved to not have to keep someone so next to useless on the payroll. He walks out feeling surprisingly emotional; it took him a lot of work to get here and there’s a part of him that loves the little shop. It feels like leaving another home.

He’ll figure out how to make something work with just one hand, he tells himself. He refuses to commit himself to a career in some sort of office work like is suggested to him multiple times. That’s not him. He already misses the smell of engine oil.

He has to laboriously collect his things to put them back into the boxes that it feels like just yesterday he was unpacking. He didn’t live too long here, but he’ll always remember this place for providing his first real taste of freedom. The first and last month’s rent he had to pay that had been such a big hurdle for his move out now comes in handy, taking away the largest payment he’d have to make while spending a month out of work.

Foster mum offered to store a portion of his stuff, probably partially out of guilt for not being able to help out while he was in the hospital; she apparently wasn’t using his old room for anything but storage anyway. He’ll maybe get the stuff shipped over if this goes well. _When_ it goes well, he tells himself. He’s splurging on bringing two large pieces of luggage with his essentials on the flight; his favourite tools, his computer, and the few items of clothing he has worth keeping. He sells or trades off his microwave, coffee maker, and other minor appliances through local websites with a mounting feeling of terror as the days go by, emptier and emptier.

_What if this doesn’t work out?_

Though he has very little to do, Mako and Jamie don’t talk to each other as much. It’s not on purpose. Jamie bites back on mentioning how nervous he is at least once a day. He feels like Mako is too. They should talk about it, invoking their sharing rule that has gone so well for everything else. They don’t. Jamie stares at the ceiling as his limbs cramp up and he grits his teeth, low on sleep.

Sometimes Mako will tell him about the things he’ll show Jamie when he gets there. Jamie allows himself to be lulled into the fantasy, but it never lasts long. He questions if he wants this. Ten minutes later he laughs at himself and says _duh_. He is so excited he wants to scream; _he’s going to be able to see Mako. To touch him. To hear him without a filter and-_

He’s nauseous again. The one-way ticket sitting in his email’s inbox feel physically heavy in his pocket

Angela calls it anxiety. He’d opened up just enough to her about it because he didn’t want to freak Mako out any more than he already was.

 **Mercy** :  
What did you think about moving _before_ you started having these anxious feelings though?

 **Junkrat** :  
Uhm, that fuck yeag i wanna go nbe with my bf that sounds luike a dream

 **Mercy** :  
Then trust that. Your brain is just playing tricks on you.  
It’s a big change and it’s completely normal to feel apprehensive.

 **Junkrat** :  
Ythat makres sense but it doesnt make my stomach feekl any better lol

 **Mercy** :  
Yes that’s… unfortunately how anxiety usually works. =/ I’m sorry.

He tries to keep that in mind as the ocean starts looking more and more shallow and green and tan shores come into view from nearly ten kilometres in the air. His stomach still doesn’t get the message and it feels like it’s floating somehow even higher above the earth. “ _Fuck fuck fuck_ ,” he whispers under his breath and the tired lady sitting beside him sighs for the fifth time this hour. As if on cue, they’re told to put their seatbelts on as the plane will begin descent.

_Oh god. It’s happening._

Specks of dust turn into ants turn into lego block models turn into real buildings as the plane slowly winds down in a lazy curve and his ears pop mercilessly.

_Oh god. It’s happening._

“There’s little bags if you think you’re going to…” the lady beside him says very quietly in a tone of concern masked poorly by politeness.

“I’m fine,” he snarls and now he can’t even avoid looking out the window because she’s obviously been peeking at his screwed up face. Damnit.

The plane touches down with a jerk and his heart is going to explode.

_Oh god. It’s happening._

Taxiing feels longer than the flight itself as the massive vehicle winds laboriously through the maze of runways, lines and lights. Everyone is shifting around him and pulling out their phones; he’s too scared to touch his. After an eternity the plane rolls to a stop beside the terminal and people immediately jump up to grab their things from the overhead compartments. Luckily, nosy lady only brought her purse and is out of his way, gaining just a couple metres of headway in the traffic of bodies eager to leave. He feels like he’s in a trance as he pulls his bag out and follows the slow stream of humanity down the aisle and out of the plane into some tunnel out of a sci-fi movie. Once the area opens up, he’s greeted by airy, blue-themed art displays dotting the usual terminal interior. He thinks he’d like to stay and look at them if he wasn’t currently a zombie trudging forward with the others following the signs to baggage claim. They get to the open space and wait, looking for their flight number in LED lights.

He needs to turn on his phone. He needs to make sure Mako’s here. He needs to tell Mako he’s here.

He drops the little black rectangle on the carpeted floor and nearly shrieks, adrenaline spiking with his already frayed nerves. “ _Cunt_ ,” he hisses quietly and forcefully, trying to release some pressure without getting too many stares. He flips the phone on and waits a painfully long time for the roaming signal to appear and give him data.

Messages pop up immediately.

 **Roadhog** :  
hey i’m here early so  
whenever you get down.

 **Roadhog** :  
looks like your flight’s on time.

 **Roadhog** :  
i’m in arrivals

Jamie struggles to type with his left thumb and hand holding the machine; he still hasn’t quite gotten used to this part.

 **Junkrat** :  
jus waitijnng for lyhhage  
luggage

He looks up to see the bags starting to wind out of the conveyor belt.

 **Roadhog** :  
cool.

He answers pretty much instantly. Oh gosh. Oh god.

_It’s happening._

His newly purchased bags are massive but easily identifiable with the spray painted smiley faces adoring them. He struggles to pull the first one off as the belt rotates on without a care. A stranger takes pity on him and pulls them both up. Jamie barely has the attention span to thank or fume at the man for helping without permission. He’s able to get his stump through the extending handle of one to laboriously wheel them both out of the area and towards the exit.

This is it, he realizes. He is officially at the point that any second he could turn the corner and just _see_ Mako. Just Mako, standing there. Being real. And 3D. And like. There.

He’s almost glad one of his legs is metal because it’s pulling most of the weight, what with his other one turned to jelly. Faces and places and skylights and railings dazzle him as he walks forward with no clear goal.

_This is it. It’s happening._

“Jamie?”

He almost doesn’t hear it at first; the voice is deep, sure, but it’s kind of unfamiliar. It takes him a full second and a half to stop walking and blink, looking to the side. Without fanfare or introduction, he’s there.

Just, there.

Jamie’s not sure how long he spends staring at the man moving towards him through the crowd before he manages to choke out a “G’day.” It takes him three tries to produce the two syllables in an appreciable manner.

“Hey,” says Mako, because of course he says hey. Jamie’s eyes are massive and he doesn’t know where to look. That’s Mako’s face, yup. That’s him. His stature cuts a swath of protection in the crowd of people in a hurry to get places. Mako takes a breath or two while Jamie takes ten.

What is he supposed to do here? Should he hug Mako? Mako’s so big; he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get his arm around him. Would it be normal to immediately get in his space? They’d talked plenty about hugging. It wouldn’t be so weird. Jamie’s feet stay glued to the ground though, mired in the quicksand of indecision and intimidation.

People walk by as announcements play in a pleasing female voice over the speakers. “We should probably get out of here…” Mako speaks first, and god his voice makes Jamie feel light-headed.

“Y-yeah.”

Mako looks so… good. Just good. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt under a pale blue jacket. His nails are their usual, pristine matte black and one hand is adorned with simple rings. Jamie feels insignificant with only half the amount of limbs and his torn up jeans and jacket. He’s accepted the look as a deliberate aesthetic that works for him, but he’s having second thoughts.

“I can take those.”

Jamie doesn’t have it in him to argue about both suitcases being grabbed by Mako who handles them like they’re made of cardboard and filled with cotton candy. They’re wheeled behind him with ease and Jamie hops to keep up.

The airport bustles around them, just oppressive enough to keep his eyes darting and senses overwhelmed. He sticks behind Mako and chews furiously on his lip, biting back words on words that don’t have form.

Mako’s broad back towers above Jamie with his poor posture and for the first time in his life he feels absolutely dwarfed by another human being. The blue jacket he thought was pretty boring at first appears to be adorned with an elaborate embroidery of a cartoon pig surrounded by engines and fire and Jamie has to stifle a giggle. Mako’s hair is in a loose ponytail, with errant light strands flying around his head in the breeze as they exit the airport and make their way to a parking area. It’s mesmerizing. Jamie can hear his blood pumping in his ears and the _clop thud clop thud_ of his mismatched gait over the roaring of the planes in the sky. The luggage wheels rattle and Mako’s own footfalls are heavy and even, but relatively silent across the concrete.

They eventually reach an unremarkable car in a sea of unremarkable cars and Mako sets the luggage on the back seats. Jamie tilts his head in question and Mako grunts. “Rental. Didn’t feel like dealing with a taxi. Can’t take this stuff on a bike.”

“Roight,” Jamie responds. Mako opens one door before unlocking his, and Jamie gets in. The cab smells like generic cleaner. He’s used to it from working on cars and needing to tidy them after he smears grease on the dashboard. It centres him, but just barely.

They sit in the car for a moment, neither of them touching the seat belts.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

“Hey,” Mako says at the same time.

Jamie bursts out into high, frantic giggles and Mako chuckles quietly. It feels like a small weight has been lifted.

“Sorry mate ahh… big day.” Jamie smiles sheepishly, barely able to look the older man head-on.

“S’alright.” Mako’s voice is a warm rumble. “Probably normal. Take some getting used to.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, knowing exactly what he means. He’s still amped up in uncomfortable ways but the edge has been taken off considerably and he allows himself to slouch back into the car seat. He rubs his shorter arm, trying to relax. When his eyes dare to drift back to Mako, pale, grey-blue eyes are looking at his stump. Mako’s gaze freezes on his, caught.

A wayward bolt of bitterness strikes Jamie and he mentally dares Mako to look away from his wound. A moment passes. At length, Mako gives what might be a slight nod and simply asks, “Hungry?”

Another sliver of apprehension falls away as Jamie lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah mate. Airplane food was trash.”

He hadn’t had the stomach to even eat on the airplane.

“I know it’s soon, but,” Mako punctuates his statement by starting the car at last. “This is the day of the week Ange and I usually grab dinner. The cafe isn’t too far away and she said she’d be in the area if you were up for it.”

“Sure,” Jamie replies automatically. Mako pauses to send a message to Angela and then they begin driving.

The area around the airport isn’t quite as built up as the one he left, and there’s not much of interest out the window for Jamie. He catches the sound of the engine rumbling below them and turns his anxious energy to other sources.

“Nissan Navara, eh? Kiwis sure like their pickups. Solid machine though.” Jamie pokes the console. “Coolant issues sometimes though; fixed a fair few of those. Gotta love going home with your clothes covered in coolant because of a bum hose. Then I gotta drag everythin’ to the laundromat and it’s a whole _thing_ y’know?”

“Mm.”

“Did I tell ya about the time like an entire gas tank emptied on my face?”

“You sent pictures.”

“Roight!” Jamie laughs nervously, a slight manic edge to his raw voice. He didn’t sleep last night and he’s exhausted. The hum of the vehicle is relaxing and knowing the actual Mako is beside him is both thrilling, terrifying, and reassuring. He focuses on his breathing - another tip from the good doctor. His mind feels like it should be racing but, shockingly, this time it helps. He pulls himself up into another stream of consciousness dialogue about a lose connection he thinks he hears somewhere in the machine’s guts. Mako listens passively.

He’s in a car with Mako. And that’s okay.

“Here.”

Jamie jolts, realizing after some hazy amount of time that the car has stopped. He must have dozed off mid-sentence somehow because he can't for the life of him remember what he'd been talking about. They’re parked on the side of the road in a downtown-ish looking area and he moves quickly to wipe the bit of drool from his mouth. “Ahaha, sorry mate, been awhile since I had a good snooze.”

Mako looks at him with something that can only be concern. It looks like his regular, heavy-set face, but there’s an extra furrow in his brow and tug to his lips. They’re really nice lips. Very thick. Probably soft. Jamie can feel himself colouring so he scrambles for the seat belt. “Been awhile since a good meal either! Let’s see what ya kiwis call food.”

Mako snorts and pulls himself up and out of the car. Jamie follows. They walk a short way to a cafe that reminds him of the kind of place he’d usually scowl at and plan to vandalize. A delicate chime sounds as Mako strides in and the smell of warm pastries fills Jamie’s nose and entices his confused and nauseous stomach. The interior is filled with dark brown wood and tan and pale pink upholstery. Natural light makes the diner feel both cool and homey.

“Nice place,” Jamie says just to say something, Mako knows where he’s going and leads them to a seat. It feels far too plush for his bony ass and Jamie shifts awkwardly.

“Good afternoon Mr. Rutledge! The us-” A server in a tawny apron approaches with a notepad and just as quickly stops, eyeing Jamie. Her eyes catch on the torn sleeve of the leather jacket and his missing arm for a second too long.

“The usual is fine,” Mako says, his tone just a touch louder than Jamie has heard yet, making the server snap back to him.

“Wonderful, and your friend?”

“Got any vegemite, darl?” He puts on his heaviest accent.

“U-uhm, maybe? On what?”

“I’m just kidding. Uhh, I’ll have what he’s having?” Jamie raises an eyebrow to Mako.

“Sure,” the waitress chirps and sweeps away to the counter.

Mako sighs once she’s left. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

Mako sort of shrugs and gestures towards Jamie’s stump. Jamie shrugs. “I’m used ta it.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

Jamie shrinks under the scrutiny of Mako’s thick brows and light eyes. “Seriously, mate. I mean it’s flattering but ya don’t gotta protect me from shit. It’s who I am now and people can deal.”

Mako backs off, looking away. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Jamie responds. They didn’t match each other’s gaze and Jamie picks at the loose threads on his jacket and looks around for something to focus on. He starts rattling off a critique of the interior, before moving on to judge the loud conversation a businessman in a suit is having across the room.Mako takes it in good humour as Jamie makes up the responses of whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

“ _If our employees aren’t on welfare by the end of this quarter, you’re clearly not doing your jo_ -”

“Mako!” An almost familiar voice cuts through his mocking and the otherwise quiet murmur of the cafe. They both turn to see a woman with blonde hair in a messy ponytail and turtleneck sweater approach. It takes Jamie just a second to clue in as she follows with, “And Jamie!”

“Merc!” Jamie perks up. He grins widely as Angela approaches, giggling at the use of her handle.

“Oh please, Angela is fine here in the real world.” Her laugh is light and she reaches out a delicate hand to shake. It’s her left hand; he’s impressed.

“You must have practice, doc.”

He surprises her by rising and using the handshake to pull her into a loose hug. Angela makes a small sound of surprise before laughing.

They pull back and she smiles. There are bags under her blue eyes.

Mako greets her as she sits and a more balanced conversation picks up with a neutral party present. Angela fills in the small-talk that Mako is too blunt for and is absent of the anxiety that plagues Jamie. She asks about the flight and how he’s feeling. Lattes with cute drawings in the foam on top arrive and Jamie feels a little bad for even starting to drink it.

“Jamie, if you don’t mind, may I see your scar?”

He blinks. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He holds up his stump as Mako watches the interaction. Mercy- Angela inspects it. “Looks like they got a pretty clean cut out of it, that’s good. The leg treating you well?”

“It’s simple but it’s not bad,” Jamie raises the thing up practically on the table and Angela laughs at the paint job. Mako’s face bears the rare hint of a fond smile and Jamie’s heart flutters as he catches it out of the corner of his eye. The waitress walks by with a withering look and Jamie puts it back down.

“You know, Jamison,” Mercy takes a sip of her drink; it looks significantly stronger than his and Mako’s light lattes. “I know this is a big day for you, but I wanted to see you as I’m likely heading back to Switzerland soon. I’ve been offered a more prestigious position than my current lot in the ER here and I do miss my home country.”

“Awe, just can’t stay in the same country as me, eh?”

“Can’t have Mako having too many intelligent blondes in his life,” Angela quips. Mako rolls his eyes. “Anyway, the hospital I’m going to has an advanced prosthetics program and they’re always looking for people ready to try experimental things. I’m sure I can gather enough clout to get you on the list to try out some of the fancy new arms they’re developing. If you’re interested, of course.”

Jamie blinks. “Really? That’d be aces!”

Angela smiles. “No promises yet, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Damn, thanks…” Jamie’s trailing off provides a window for food to be delivered. Twin plates of cutely decorated pastries are set before him and Mako, as well as a sandwich filled with greenery. Jamie attacks both, the slow recovery of his nerves leaving him starving. He chokes on a bit of crust for his rush.

“Be careful, idiot,” Mako mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, rub it in, mum,” Jamie barely gets out between coughs.

Angela gives a knowing smirk and Jamie realizes that’s the first natural interaction they’ve had all day and little explosions go off under his skin. He continues eating, slowly, after he finishes his episode, and finds himself full quickly. He tosses the final pastry onto Mako’s plate. The older man snorts. “Shouldn’t have gotten my usual.”

“Shoulda stopped me.”

“Like you’d listen.”

“Ya know I’m all ears for you,” Jamie drawled back. When he realizes what he said, he colours and turns his focus to the last drops of his latte. Angela lets out a cough which sounds suspiciously like a muffled snort of amusement.

Angela can’t stay long, and promises to visit if she gets another chance before moving. Jamie sees some disappointment in Mako’s eyes; it was clear their time together had been important. He hopes he can help fill the void.

“Seriously though,” Jamie catches her attention. “Thanks. I know I always come to ya with dumb questions and whinin’ and all that. Ya really helped me though. A lot. S’good ta have another friend.

“Oh gosh,” Angela smiles and her shoulders raise in embarrassment. “It’s nothing. Really. It’s what I do.”

“Just take the compliment,” Mako says, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, you’re welcome.” She smiles crookedly, shaking her head. “Now I must be off to do that thing where I save lives and clean up refuse. Take care boys; see you online!”

“Ta!”

“Bye.”

Angela pays her bill and leaves. Things immediately tone down, conversation more sparse and nerves mounting just a touch. Mako suggests they head out, looking at Jamie’s drooping, tired posture. The sun is getting low anyway, as his flight had been around midday.

They pile into the car and there’s another quiet stretch of driving. Mako puts on some quiet music from his phone, and Jamie smiles at the odd familiar tune that’s been linked to him in the past. The food has given him some energy, and he uses the time to sneak glances at the man beside driving while Mako’s eyes are responsibly glued to the road.

He looks the same, but very different. His skin looks just a touch darker than how the camera has painted him, and Jamie could have never imagined how light his hair looks as it pours from his ponytail and shines in the afternoon light. Seeing him in motion is especially jarring; it’s nearly uncanny compared to the single frames he’s used to seeing. Mako moves slowly but deliberately in everything he’s seen so far.

Jamie looks away before his luck runs out and he’s caught. “Almost there,” Mako mutters, turning onto a side street into a residential area. Soon they’re pulling into the parking lot of a small apartment building. It’s just three stories tall and nothing fancy, but it looks nice and well-kept.

“Aces,” Jamie says. Mako gets out and grabs his luggage. Mako’s apartment is on the second floor and watching him lift the luggage easily as he climbs the stairs is so distracting Jamie’s false foot catches on a step. He barely manages to not trip.

“Here we are,” Mako says, unlocking the door and setting down the load. Jamie follows behind, suddenly reverent of the space, eyes darting around.

He’s seen snippets of this place. The cream coloured walls that come standard in most rental units are familiar backdrops to Mako’s photos. He’s seen this countertop play home to meals Mako’s made that he was proud enough of to share. The traditional ceramic teapot with pale piggy features catches his eye and he snickers. Mako raises an eyebrow. A really nice eyebrow.

“Home sweet home,” Jamie says, shrugging off his jacket. He would have normally tossed it on the first available surface but he remembers that that wouldn’t be polite in someone else’s space. He stands awkwardly for a moment. Mako takes pity on him and grabs the coat, opening the sliding door on a small front closet and hanging it up. He pauses, inspecting the ripped arm. Jame shoves his hand in his pocket.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“What?”

“Ruining your jacket.”

Mako stares directly at him for a flat moment and Jamie shrinks under the scrutiny.

“Idiot,” Mako finally murmurs, voice softer than usual. He shakes his head and his lovely hair flows behind.

Jamie kicks off his boots and follows Mako into the apartment proper. It’s made of a narrow kitchen and a dining space with a wall separating that and a fair-sized living area. A small hallway leads to a bathroom and bedroom. There aren’t many posters on the walls but small knick knacks, mostly pig and motorcycle themed, cover the shelves. He wants to pick them up and go through each one, but he keeps his hand to himself. For now.

“Did you want to,” Mako pauses, searching for words. “Watch something? Or just go to bed.”

“Mm, wouldn’t mind a quick episode,” Jamie says even as he yawns at the mere mention of a bed. Mako’s face is neutral as he turns to the rest of the room, quickly setting up netflix on his decent-sized TV.

Jamie gingerly takes a seat on one end of a full length couch. Everything here looks so clean and he feels out of place in his ratty jeans. He dreads even opening his suitcase full of dirty tools. Mako eventually takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch, not far enough against the end to be avoiding him, but keeping a healthy distance. Jamie tries not to think too much into it as he settles.

“This place is spotless,” Jamie grumbles with an air of put-upon petulance.

Mako shrugs. “Cleaned a lot this week. Something to do.”

“Ah.” Jamie is quickly distracted by thoughts of the stoic man beside him being worried enough about what some idiot kid would think that he vacuumed and dusted every surface.

An episode somewhere in the middle of Stranger Things, season two begins playing. Consideration over the physical fades into the background as they shift into media consumption mode. Jamie laughs loudly at parts, and they discuss plot points as they appear. Mako turns the lights down and as the sun sets, Jamie finds his eyes sliding shut a little too often.

This is comfortable. He’s okay with this.

“I'm getting the feeling you’re tired.” Mako’s voice jolts him out of a half-slumber during the credits music.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. C’mere.”

Mako gets up and Jamie sleepily sways to his feet to follow him to the bedroom. There are a couple posters on the walls to this room, but he’s a little too tired to study them. One looks like it’s for a metal band. Mako brings in his luggage before taking a breath to speak. “‘M not quite ready for bed yet, but I’ll take the couch so you can get a real night’s sleep for once.”

“What? ‘Naw mate! Give me the couch, I’m not takin’ your bed for fuck sakes.”

“Quiet,” Mako says in a tone that’s equally reprimanding and teasing. “We’ll figure things out tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Jamie whines rolling onto the bed. Mako retreats to the door to give him some privacy.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he rumbles. He stands there a second longer, one hand on the doorframe. “And. It’s good to have you here.”

Jamie’s poor heart is assaulted yet again by a thrill of adrenaline. “Yeah. Me too. I mean. Good to be here.”

There’s a hint of a smile in the half-light. “Night.”

“G’night.”

The door shuts, Jamie strips to his boxers for bed, removes the straps on his prosthetic, and collapses.

 

\---

 

He’s awake again maybe an hour later.

He groans as he looks at the white numbers glowing in front of Mako’s face in his lock screen photo. He’s looked at this photo every day for years. He stares at it close enough to his face that he can see the dots of pixels and his eyes water from the strain of light in the dark.

He misses Roadhog.

The thought comes unbidden and he snarls at himself, pelting the phone ineffectually at the unreasonably comfortable bed. He ducks his head under the covers to sulk for just a moment, before he is reminded that _holy shit he is in Mako’s bed right fucking now._

He breathes in the scent he’d missed so much from his jacket and lets out a dumb sound. He stays there for awhile, just feeling comfortable and hoping he’ll fall asleep. He doesn’t.

It’s muffled by the layers of sheets and a wall, but he occasionally hears Mako moving around the apartment. He pokes his head out from the covers to listen closer and pick out the sounds of a late night snack being made, and then a return to the couch. And then a shifting. And then a trip to the bathroom. Back to the couch.

Jamie grabs his phone again and pulls it and his head back under the covers.

_**Roadhog** is typing..._

He squeaks. With wide eyes, he watches the message sit there for a moment more, and then disappear. Several moments later it appears again, only to vanish once more.

Jamie flexes his fingers and gnaws on his lower lip with sharp teeth. Eventually, he props himself up enough to type with his left hand.

 **Junkrat** :  
this is weierd  
isnt it

He takes a deep inhale of his surroundings, closes his eyes, and waits.

 **Roadhog** :  
yeah.  
sorry.

 **Junkrat** :  
not ur faulrt m8.

 **Roadhog** :  
i hope you don’t feel this was a mistake.

 **Junkrat** :  
No!!!!  
looh i took the time to caps that and everythinfg  
I thibnk its just likw  
different  
really diffrent

 **Roadhog** :  
your terrible typing is still the same.

 **Junkrat** :  
wow rude picjk on the cripple

He thinks he hears a hint of a chuckle from the other room and he dies a bit.

 **Junkrat** :  
also hello its noty fair ur so fkin prtty irl its distracting me frojm being my usual charming self obviiosly!!

 **Roadhog** :  
…

 **Junkrat** :  
iu heard what i said

A moment passes and Jamie becomes incredibly, painfully hyper-aware that he is flirting with someone a whole five-metres-and-a-wall from him.

 **Roadhog** :  
well you’re so cute it’s fucking obnoxious.  
who gave you the right to have that stupid freckle on your nose.

Jamie bites his knuckles to avoid making a noise. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

A minute ticks by. Then another. Jamie types something and then backspaces it. He tries again, and then deletes it. He tries again-

He kicks himself free of his blanketed sanctuary and hobbles as best as he can for the door with one hand on the wall. He opens it, only half trying to be quiet, and makes it one more hop into the hallway before he crashes into something soft and warm.

“Roadho-”

Mako’s lips find his, clumsily pressing together with an errant strand of Mako’s hair between them. Jamie bites back a breathless laugh as Mako brushes his hair away and kisses him properly, wonderful massive hands coming up to hold the sides of his face. Jamie promptly gives up on steadying himself on the wall and clings to Mako, embarrassing noises of need tumbling from his lips when they part for breath.

“Roadhog,” Jamie says stupidly, dazed. “Mako.”

“Rat.”

“Please stay with me. Please touch me.”

“I mean, yes,” Mako responds, voice equally breathless.

“In bed.”

“Yeah.”

Mako lifts him up fully and _holy shit Mako is just fucking up and carrying him to the damn bed like some shitty romance cover_ \- and they collapse onto it. Mako’s weight makes Jamie bounce up and he cackles, then his discarded phone hits a shoulder-blade and he curses, flinging it out of the way.

Mako turns to him and seems to hesitate. Jamie raises a bushy eyebrow.

“You okay with this?” Mako’s voice is quiet but full. Jamie shudders at the sound but a cat-like grin comes to his face.

“Ya just tossed me on the bed and now ya wantin’ to be a gentleman?”

“It was impulsive.” There's something akin to sheepishness in Mako's voice.

“Would be happy ta see some more of those impulses, mate,” Jamie fires back.

Mako takes the hint, pulling Jamie close and he quickly decides he would like manhandling to be his primary form of transportation from this day forward. Large lips claim his own again, and Jamie’s hand finds its way into Mako’s hair which is as silky as advertised. It’s not in a ponytail anymore. Lovely. He cards his fingers through it as Mako’s hand makes its way down his lean body, covering a shocking amount of his torso at once. “Holy shit,” he manages between kisses.

“What?” Mako huffs.

“Your hands are so fuckin’ big.”

“Is that a problem?” Mako responds in a deadpan that Jamie can practically see in text form.

“Mate, that’s the exact opposite of a problem.”

“Good.” Mako moves his mouth down to Jamie’s neck and he’s so fucked. “Would prefer to keep my hands on you now that you’re finally here.”

“Fuckin’... aces.”

Mako’s hand eventually finds its way to Jamie’s right arm. There’s a fraction of a pause, as if he’s asking permission again. Jamie doesn’t object, and Mako runs a thick thumb over the scar at the end of the stump, making Jamie shiver.

“Fifty?”

“Eh?” It takes his pleasure-addled brain a moment to recall the reference. “Oh, sure,” Jamie murmurs.

“It still hurt?”

“No,” Jamie says quickly. He grimaces. “Sometimes,” he corrects.

He lets his short arm be lifted and Mako kisses the stump. Jamie turns his head into the pillow, screwing up his face. “You’re a fuckin’... big ole sap loser. Thing.”

“Yes.”

They spend what feels like an hour in bed, just feeling each other. Jamie wants to memorize every inch of the man at his side and there’s plenty to learn. At first he feels overwhelmed and unsure of whatever etiquette is supposed to apply, but eventually it becomes natural as he allows his hand to wander, wishing he had two to add to the experience. Touching turns into lazy, tired handjobs and a quick clean up, before Jamie buries his face in Mako’s chest and finally sleeps.

 

\---

 

When Jamie wakes, it is to a light dusting of hair on brown skin, and he looks up to see pale gray eyes with just a hint of blue looking at him. “Fuck,” he whispers eloquently. Mako honest-to-god laughs and it’s so deep and moves all of him and he wants to hear and feel that forever. He clings unabashedly.

Cool. So that hadn’t been a dream.

Cool.

“I like your tits.”

“You’re a real Casanova.”

“Mmmphmm.” Jamie’s response is muffled by Mako’s body.

They spend an inordinate amount of time in bed carrying along much as they had last night. Jamie’s skin feels tingly and overwhelmed with the new feeling of being _touched_ after a lifetime of just being his awkwardly gangly lonesome self wrapped in threadbare tank tops and patchy jeans. He reciprocates the best he can and tries not to ruin the moment by asking if he’s enough when Mako seems like so much more. Calloused hands brush across him, smothering and heavy and he feels light-headed in bliss.

Eventually Jamie’s stomach rumbles and Mako snorts. “Time for breakfast?”

“I mean, if we haaaave to,” Jamie draws out, stretching luxuriously as Mako pulls himself out of bed. The older man eyes him critically and Jamie wiggles, hoping he comes off as someone seductive. Mako rolls his eyes.

“Scrawny. You need food.”

“Nom.”

Mako shakes his head and leaves the room. Jamie watches him and his soft gray boxers disappear around the corner and he lets out a loud, contented sigh. Filled with too much energy to bask for much longer, he flops over and grabs his phone.

 **Junkrat** :  
just made oyut w roadhog 10/10 woukd make out w again.

 **D’Va** :  
oh my fucking god  
why

 **Tracer** :  
!!!  
oh gosh luv, congrats!

 **D’Va** :  
whyyyyyy

 **Roadhog** :  
seriously.

 **Lucio** :  
Oh snap.

 **Junkrat** :  
stop looking at ur phonr and finish makin me breakfast in bed

 **Tracer** :  
omg

 **Winston** :  
Wait, Junkrat and Roadhog are together?

 **Tracer** :  
looool win, you’re so slow!

 **Junkrat** :  
yalljust jeeeeeaaallloouuussssss

 **D’Va** :  
no.

Mako comes back to the door as Jamie is posing with a stuffed pig he’s found for a selfie in bed.

“Jealous of mister oinkers?” Jamie says, giving the plushie a peck.

“Her name’s Petunia,” Mako intones in complete deadpan.

“Oh my _god_.”

“Get your ass up if you want food; I’m not letting you get syrup on my bed.”

“Our bed.” Jamie waggles his eyebrows.

Mako rolls his eyes and turns back to the rest of the apartment. The smell of pancakes is enticing enough that he fumbles around for his prosthetic and pulls on a pair of pants.

The apartment looks warm in the mid-morning light that shines through a pair of sliding glass doors. They lead to an incredibly tiny balcony covered in leafy potted plants. He wants to inspect further but he’s drawn by the sound of plates hitting a table. A wooden chair creaks as Mako settles down in the dining area. He eyes Jamie. “Well?”

Jamie giggles. “This is downright domestic, mate.” He pulls out the other chair and plops down. A pile of fresh chocolate chip pancakes, syrup and butter sit in the middle of the table. He feels something in his chest clench. He remembers awkward dinners with foster mum and Craig and the weird pressure that they entailed. He remembers every other meal he ate fresh from a microwave and hunched over his keyboard.

“Ya made these?” Jamie manages to choked out.

“From a mix,” Mako brushes off. He catches Jamie’s stare. “What? Don’t like pancakes?”

“Nah mate,” Jamie busies himself in grabbing some of his own pancakes. Mako’s raised eyebrow eventually lowers and they eat in silence. The meal is light, fluffy and tasty but it fills his stomach quickly. He leans back with a contented sigh.

“That’s all?” Mako eyes him.

“I ate like three, I’m not insultin’ your baking skills. They were goddamn lovely if you’re fishing for compliments.”

“You should eat more.”

“I’m fulllll.”

Mako looks suspicious but drops it. “Fine. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Their stiff dialogue hangs in the air for a moment before they bough share a laugh at the banter. Mako’s nearby phone vibrates and he sighs, checking it.

“Boyfriend number two missing you?”

“Yes. He wants me to operate the crane lift.”

“You have work off today?”

“No. Told them I wasn’t feeling well so I’d be late.” Mako taps at the screen. “They’re asking if I can come in soon though. Apparently someone else called in too.”

“Ugh.” Jamie sticks out his tongue. “Well, guess someone’s gotta pay for this swanky pad.”

“You’re going to go through all my shit the second I leave the building.”

“Yes.”

Mako scowls. Jamie giggles. “Naww I’ll keep the lockpicks in my pocket, promise. Can’t say I won’t make myself comfortable though.”

“Go ahead.”

Mako finishes his meal and piles the plates in the sink. Jamie loiters in the living room, digging his toes into the nice carpet. Mako gets ready for work, shuffling back to the room to get dressed. Jamie feels silly and pokes at a frame with a photo of a smiling woman, young girl, and what is clearly a young Mako. He looks adorable.

“Be back in a few hours. Have to drop off the car after.”

Mako is now standing at the door in a dusty blue button-up and worn jeans. A worn bag sits over his shoulder. The clothing is familiar from the few pictures he’s sent from work. His proximity to the door suddenly sparks something in Jamie’s gut; an irrational panic that Mako is leaving.

It’s silly. It’s stupid. He should grin and wish Mako a good day. Instead he leans into a brisk walk and slams into Mako’s soft side, gripping him with his arm.

Mako takes in a breath as if he’s about to say something, but he stops short and just returns the hug, crushing Jamie against him. They stay like that from the moment. Jamie’s eyes are closed and he can hear Mako’s breaths and heartbeat.

At length, Mako pulls away just enough to tilt back Jamie’s head and claims his lips. He makes half a moan deep in his throat and when Mako finally pulls back, he lets out a huff of a breath. “Fuckin’ hell, Rat.”

“Have a good day, Hoggie-woggie.” He uses a teasing tone to mask the sentimentality of his actions. He hopes it works.

Mako snorts and they finally part. The door closes and Jamie listens to Mako’s heavy steps down the stairs and out of the building. He lets out a breath and adjusts himself. It feels weird to be in Mako’s apartment alone, and he does intend to snoop into everything not bolted down, but for now he collapses on the couch and shoves his face into a throw pillow.

Goddamn, Mako owns throw pillows. Jamie shrieks and giggles into the thing like a schoolgirl.

Despite the myriad of things he wants to get into and the items he wants to unpack, Jamie finds himself remaining on the couch, stretching his long limbs along the cushions. He feels like a stray cat finally being adopted. The anxiety of the last day - well, the last two months - have finally fallen away and he’s honestly happy just to relax. He scrounges for the TV remote and eventually manages to pull up netflix. He selects a random new documentary the program recommends to him. He learns about the time an American car company tricked emissions testers to sell harmful cars and he’s so calm he doesn’t even get mad about it.

He’s happy. He’s just. Happy.

His phone buzzes and he grabs it with a smile.

 **Roadhog** :  
have you found the drugs and firearms yet.

Jamie responds with a selfie of himself laying on his back on the couch, shoulders up in a half shrug. There’s a lazy grin on his face that he can’t be bothered to work into something as smarmy as he feels.

 **Roadhog** :  
fuck off.

 **Junkrat** :  
??

 **Roadhog** :  
i’m here for three more hours and it’s  
stop looking so stupid and inexplicably adorable on my couch when i’m not there.

He sends another photo of his face smushed into the throw pillow. Mako curses him out some more before heading back to work.

The documentary switches to the story of a crooked payday loan company and Jamie falls asleep sprawled on the couch.

 

\---

 

He dreams of the game.

Junkrat and Makune go to a cafe and they eat a massive meal. Makune insists that Junkrat pays but Junkrat doesn’t have enough gold. While he panics and tries to sell tools out of his inventory, the whole place is overrun by monsters. He frantically fights them while trying to pick up loot to pay for the meal. Makune says he’s going to have to kick him out of their home if he can’t pay and he strolls past the battle and to his motorcycle. The store owner is yelling at him for spray painting the wall and where did that come from and a door slams-

Jamie opens his eyes, hearing movement. The stucco ceiling above him is unfamiliar and he flails, ending up tumbling off the couch and onto the floor. Mako’s head pops around the corner in concern. “What are you…”

Oh yeah. He’s at Mako’s place. Cool.

“Inspecting the floor. I think it’s a keeper.”

“... idiot.”

Jamie’s in the middle of pushing himself when Mako leans down to kiss him. He smells like concrete dust and diesel. It’s brief and Mako moves to the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Jamie replaces himself onto the couch, poking at his toes.

Mako settles himself down on the couch far too far away. Jamie twitches to plaster himself to Mako’s side again, but something in the man’s posture gives him pause.

“What’s up?”

“We should talk.”

Jamie grins through the sudden plummet in his stomach. “Oh good, the three words every boyfriend wants to hear.”

Mako grunts fondly, reaching over to tousle his hair. Jamie leans into it on reflex and Mako looks like he’s biting back a smart comment as he pulls away. “Calm down, Rat.” The use of his handle spoken does the trick.

“I’m calm as fuck.”

“Obviously.”

Mako puts his hand down on Jamie’s jumping leg, something he hadn’t notice he’d doing. Jamie smiles sheepishly.

“We sucked at talking during the last month. I thought I should at least bring up the stuff we gotta worry about.”

“Roight.”

“If you wanna stay, we’re going to have to apply for a visa. Australian citize-”

“Don’t normally need ta do much other than talk to the government and fill out some forms. I read up on it beforehand,” Jamie supplies. “I gotta remember ta pick up some rubbers for when they make me bugger the sheep.”

Mako’s concern morphs into a hard stare.

“Is it true that parliament takes place at Mount Doom?”

“I will put you back in the kangaroo pouch you crawled out of.”

“Excuse you, my REAL mother was a dingo and I won’t stand for this slander.”

Mako gives him a playful cuff upside the head and Jamie sticks his tongue out. “Trying to be serious,” Mako grumbles.

“Fine fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

The mood settles back down “Again… I don’t want to say this as a given but, if you do want to stay, I…” he sighs. “I want to go back to school eventually, and I may not be able to provide for us both for that time.”

“First, duh, yes I want to stay. Unless you suddenly turn into a serial killer and not one of the sexy ones with misplaced morals. Not exactly a lot going on for me back in Oz. Second, no, I don’t want to be a freeloader. I’d go nuts just sittin’ here all day while your fine ass is out.” Jamie shrugs. “I mean, I don’t know what yet but I’m sure there’s plenty of one-armed blokes getting jobs out there. I’ll figure something out. Who knows, maybe Ange will come through with that prosthetic program of hers.”

“Alright,” Mako says. He doesn’t say anything after.

“Alright?” Jamie supplies.

“I guess.” Mako scratches his neck. “I guess I just… didn’t expect things to be this easy. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Jamie nudges him with his prosthetic foot and Mako pushes it away, rolling his eyes. The larger man seems uneasy though; there’s a stiffness to his posture and a distance to his gaze that affects Jamie.

“You’re right,” Jamie says quietly, leaning back onto the couch arm and looking at the ceiling. “Nothing’s ever easy for us.”

Cars murmur by in the distance and somewhere a bird has a disjointed conversation. The muffled sound of one of the other tenants’ TV can be heard in the spaces in between. The leaves on the plants on Mako’s balcony shift in whispers.

“Maybe this _can_ be?” Jamie speaks again at last. His voice is softer than usual, and Mako turns his attention from the wall to him. The setting sun lights up the dust in the air between them. “Maybe this can be the one thing that just works.”

“That sounds fake.”

“Your face is fake.”

“What?”

Jame accompanies the banter with movement across the couch and he takes his place nearly laying over Mako’s gut with a smirk. He can feel the man’s outie belly button against his own nearly concave stomach. Mako’s hands move to Jamie’s hips to steady him.

“This is it. We won.”

“We were playing a game?” Mako raises an eyebrow from a hand’s breadth away.

“At one point that’s what this was about.” Jamie muses lightly, grin only growing.

“Shit. What happened.”

“Beats me, mate.”

Their lips meet, and they melt into the comfort of the couch in the one-bedroom apartment in New Zealand while the sun lowers in the sky. It’s quiet, and it’s lovely, and though he still doesn’t feel perfectly at home in his surroundings, Jamie knows he’ll make short work of those boundaries. He’s already planning where to set up his computer, and debating the odds of convincing Mako to let him corner off an area of the dining room for his workshop. There’s not much room for that, but who knows, maybe they could move somewhere bigger after Mako becomes a fancy vet. Maybe he’ll have a new arm by then. He could look into being a mechanic again, or maybe some sort of engineer. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with his life and the thought is exhilarating.

He’s never felt as free as he does now, mashed up against Mako and making out like they’ve got something to prove.

Jamie suddenly laughs, accidentally clacking teeth with his partner.

“What?” Mako grumbles at Jamie’s stupid expression.

“This must be what levelling up feels like.”

“... idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you again for sticking with me through this thing. I'm still utterly ruined by all the comments and kudos both on here and elsewhere. I honest to fucking god would have never thought so many of you would get behind this particular AU with these particular characters. It's a subject that is so close to my heart and history though that it means a lot. Thank you so much for everything. 
> 
> As always, a million and one praises to [Thyme](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/) for betaing and being so dang supportive to my ungrateful ass, and also [Silly](http://sillyscrunchy.tumblr.com/) and [Skadi](https://wodensskadi.tumblr.com/) for being so enthusiastic and just being generally lovely as friends I've made over the course of writing this thing. 
> 
> I'm not sure what I'll be writing next, but at some point I'll likely return to touch on these particular guys in the future. If you're interested in keeping up with me, I'm [ArmatageS](http://armatages.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr. 
> 
> Have a lovely evening, wherever you are. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, uhm, first fic I've written since I was a damn kid so there's that. I met many good friends through crappy old mmos as a teen, some of which are still my closest friends over a decade later, and I've always been interested in online relationships and stuff. So obviously I figured why not try messing around with that using these two idiots?
> 
> Super ridiculous thanks to [Thyme Basalt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) for betaing and egging me on to actually write.


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